


The Tower of Yesterday

by manic_intent



Category: Marvel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-01
Updated: 2010-11-02
Packaged: 2017-10-14 19:12:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 49,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/152513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony is the WWII hero waking up in the future.  Iron Man Noir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

[A/N: This is another great prompt! I’ve also just read Iron Man Noir, so…]

I.

Steve picked his way through the site camp that had already been set up on the rocky scree just before lake Nigardsbrevatnet, ignoring the SHIELD agents and scientists who pushed past or offered tentative greetings. Tents in gray and khaki canvas formed neat envelopes over crates and packs; Steve circled over tangled coils of thick cables and sidestepped four men hurrying past with a heavy metal case hunching their shoulders between them. It was bitingly cold even in what passed as summer in Norway, and the pale sun in the ice blue sky above him did little for warmth.

In a perimeter around the camp, SHIELD personnel in the latest StarkTech-commissioned MHS Armors stood silently, scanning for threats, the storm gray visors and matte black titanium steel gleaming sleekly in the afternoon sun. Steve looked quickly away from them, having never been comfortable with the MHS series after seeing how brutally effective the SmartTEK embeds were in the Afghanistan war, instead craning his neck until he saw what he was searching for.

Fury was standing by the receded arm of Nigardsbreen, beside a rectangular tunnel that had been bored into the ice. Miners and engineers worked furiously in a losing battle to shore up the melting ice safely with struts and temporary scaffolds, and Steve frowned disapprovingly at Fury.

“Isn’t this a World Heritage area?”

“Happily, no.” Fury scowled at the tunnel, his arms folded over his thick jacket, but offered no further conversation.

Standing beside him, and looking remarkably out of place, was a man suited in tweed, complete with neatly knotted tie and wire-rim spectacles perched on a hawkish nose. Feathery white hair, ceding to gray, fought a rearguard retreat over the proud dome of his scalp to his reddened ears. Catching Steve’s unabashedly curious stare, the man nodded at him with an air of solemn, paternal dignity.

“Captain America, I presume. Good afternoon.” An American, then.

“This is Robert Jarvis,” Fury explained.

“The trustee and appointor of the Stark Trust?”

“Very good, Captain,” Fury said dryly, his eyebrows arching briefly over the black patch on his left eye.

Steve glared briefly at him. “I’m not _entirely_ ignorant, Fury. And I didn’t realize that SHIELD took corporate funding. Aren’t you already flush from this year’s UN re-budgeting?”

“Jarvis has a…. _personal_ interest in this matter, shall we say. Certainly StarkTech is making life easier for our scientists and engineers on Project Iron. As it usually does.” Fury added, ignoring the jibe, and jerking his head towards the silent, dark Armors stationed around the camp.

“So what did you call me here for? It’s been hush the whole trip,” Steve demanded, jetlagged and irritable, “And I shouldn’t have left America so close to the Portland incident. Which,” Steve couldn’t help adding, with an edge to his tone, “Was caused by rogue StarkTech, as I’m sure you’re aware, _Director_. The second incident in three months-”

“I thought _you_ would have a personal interest in this as well, given your file.” Fury cut in sharply, looking reproachful, as though he’d summoned Steve out into the middle of nowhere in Norway as a personal favor and Steve was being ungrateful about it all. “You’re a collector of ‘Marvels’, aren’t you?”

“And so?” Despite himself, Steve now felt curious. “You found one of the relics? Is that why Jarvis is here?”

“I think we’ve found better.” Fury smirked, irritatingly smug. “If you’re a collector, Captain, then you must know how the comics ended. God knows that those bloody terrible movies last summer ensured that most of the world with access to a cinema are in the know.”

“I liked the movies,” Steve muttered, before realization dawned. “You mean you’ve _found_ Skald’s _spear_?”

“Summer’s been hotter here than it ever has. The Nigardsbreen has receded further than it usually does. Some fishermen saw something in the ice.”

“Then let’s take a look!”

“Patience, Captain. We’ve been cutting into the ice since yesterday afternoon. We’ll be able to remove what we want any time now… _Captain!_ ” Fury snapped, as Steve ignored him, striding towards the tunnel. The closest Armor shifted, the helm lifting up to glance at SHIELD’s Director, and then settled back into place at some sign behind Steve’s back.

It was even colder inside the ice, and Steve tugged his jacket more tightly over his shoulders, his breath puffing into clouds.

The tunnel had opened into what appeared to be a hollowed-out chamber when Steve realized that frost was beginning to form in a pale crust over his gloves and jacket. The engineer taking readings from the ice beside him kept smoothing his palm over his tablet, clearing off the frost; another held up his palm into the air, slowly curling his fingers as the ice crept down his fingers.

The round chamber had a neat rectangular pillar cut into the centre, and what - _who_ \- was within it stunned Steve into utter, astonished silence.

He flinched violently when Fury clapped a hand roughly on his shoulder. “And when you think you’ve seen everything there is to see.”

Within the ice was the man who shared his name with the world’s biggest technology conglomerate, adventurer, entrepreneur, inventor, engineer, _hero_. The man whose adventures had first put Steve’s feet on the path to what he was now. Anthony Stark was curled in the ice, his eyes squeezed shut, nearly fetal, his right fist clenched tight over a seemingly simple iron three-pronged spear.

“When did you dig here?”

“About two in the morning.” Fury brushed frost off his watch. “Then I called you. Since then, we’ve been working as fast as we can.”

“I guess,” Steve swallowed thickly, blinking hard. “I guess we finally have something to bury.”

Jarvis sniffed beside him, as though in disagreement, but Fury was the one who spoke, curtly. “He’s alive.”

Steve gaped at him. “That’s _not_ possible.”

“Science doesn’t tend to apply to Norse artifacts. Look closely.”

Skeptically, Steve turned his attention back to Stark’s body, and then he noticed it. Impossibly slowly, almost imperceptibly, Stark breathed in, then out.

-slowly tbc. Yes, before you ask, Fury and Jarvis are descendants of their Noir versions, which should add some hilarity.-


	2. Chapter 2

II.

Jarvis had originally insisted on trying to defrost Stark at one of the StarkTech facilities, and Fury had roundly objected, pointing out that Skald’s Spear was a matter of international security. Somehow, Steve had managed to negotiate a truce – StarkTech would defrost its most famous son in a joint effort with SHIELD, within the Stark Industries tech labs in Denmark.

And then, much to Steve’s frustration, Fury had blithely kicked him to the wolves. Admittedly, Fury had come along for the press conference, but this was _obviously_ why Steve had been dragged over to Norway, then to Denmark, in the first place, as a blind. He should have known that Fury didn’t pander to sentiment.

The press conference seemed to last an eternity, in which Steve fielded questions with all the patience he could muster about a discovery that he’d only learned about yesterday. Captain America enjoyed a worldwide goodwill at present due to what had happened two months ago in Iraq, and Fury was cashing in on that. Jarvis offered a few answers before seating himself behind the podium, trim and dignified, and Steve hated him a little, hated Fury a lot. The tone of the questions were going to shift and he knew that even the sheer worldwide interest in a possible Anthony Stark revival wasn’t going to help him for long, given the media circus of the last couple of months.

“Captain Rogers,” a pretty, petite brunette in a gray suit stood up in the front row. “Sergeant Anders, Private Robinson and Private Ashel are going on trial before the military tribunal next month. Any comments? Will you be called forward as a witness?”

Steve took a deep breath, his fingers curling tight on the podium, but thankfully Fury beat him to it. Fingers like steel bands gripped his shoulder tightly, and then Fury said, smoothly, “We are here to comment on Anthony Stark’s revival, Miss Evans, and not on due process.”

Unperturbed, Miss Evans continued, “The defendants’ lawyers are filing a counterclaim against Captain Rogers, Director Fury. Is Captain Rogers feeling confident at this stage about-”

Fury smiled his sharkish smile. “Miss Evans, as I said, that is not a relevant question.”

“If I’m called to the dock I will go,” Steve found himself interrupting flatly. “I’m not ashamed of what I did. I sure am ashamed of what _they_ did, in their names, in America’s names, in the names of all of us.”

“You put all three of them in hospital with serious injuries, Captain Rogers. Three American citizens and soldiers with dependent families.”

Steve ignored Fury’s grab for the mike. “I’ll punch _anyone_ I see executing unarmed civilians, _Miss Evans_. We were there to show people that _things could be better_. We were there to make things _right_. If I’m going to be censured for exercising my opinion as a human being-”

The rest of his words were swallowed up by an uproar from the reporters, and through the red rage Steve could dimly hear Fury shouting, at him, at the others, and then a pale, wrinkled hand delicately unhooked the microphone from the podium.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I am afraid that this is all that we have time for at the moment,” Jarvis said urbanely. “There are refreshments in the boardroom, where our HR representatives will be happy to take any further _relevant_ questions.”

Steve let himself get pulled backstage, desperately glad for heavy curtains that muted out the noise, and it was dim enough that he couldn’t see Fury’s glower. Stark Industries security ushered them through and out into a sterilized white and steel corridor, then waited, probably for Jarvis.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Steve breathed out. “Nick, I’m sorry.”

“Save it, you’re not.”

“No, I should have handled the press better. I acted like a rookie.”

“Nothing a bit of persuasion can’t fix.”

“You can’t fix bad headlines.”

“You’ll get your share of good ones. This is a nice, hippy corner of Europe.” Fury’s forced smile was toothy and more menacing than his scowl, somehow. “ ‘Captain America stands up for human dignity’.”

“I didn’t do it for the press!”

The ugly line to Fury’s mouth softened, then the Director looked away. “I know you didn’t, son. And if it’s going to be much comfort to you, I’ll have put those fuckers in hospital, too. _But_ ,” he added dryly, “I wouldn’t have put through a formal complaint or turned myself in to the Iraqi military police in public with a full confession. Maybe it was the right thing to do,” he added sharply, as Steve opened his mouth to explain, “Procedurally. But it wasn’t the _right_ thing to do when you were wearing that fucking white star on your fucking blue chainmail and holding that fucking shield. Understand?”

“Maybe if I changed my code name to ‘Captain United Nations’?” Steve asked dryly.

“Ha, ha.”

The door opened with a soft whistle of air behind them, and Jarvis stepped out, adjusting his tie, expressionless. “Nasty little creatures, the press. Useful in their way, of course.”

“They’re just doing their job.” Steve said, thinking of Peter Parker, and Jarvis arched an eyebrow at him, but made no comment, instead beginning to trot briskly down the corridor.

“I’ve received a call from Lab Three, Director Fury.” Jarvis said. “The medical team is onboard. We are ready to start the defrost.”

III.

Prying Stark’s fingers from the Spear had been the hardest part, even after the ice had melted away; frost kept creeping back over the white-knuckled fingers and Stark’s wrist, making the operation challenging even with the latest StarkTech machinery. Steve watched as machines delicately levered the digits open, fraction by fraction, until SHIELD personnel with heavy, insulated gloves managed to worm the shaft free.

Due to the cyclic thermalwave machines (still under patent, Jarvis had informed him absently), the room was stiflingly hot, but Steve felt nothing of discomfort when Stark abruptly breathed in loudly, wet and gurgling like a drowning man, and sat up, blinking.

It was probably a good thing that Fury had disarmed Stark during the procedure. Stark gasped harshly, his hand going automatically to the empty holster at his waist, then to the empty boot knife sheath at his right boot, then he snarled and lunged at the SHIELD soldiers holding the now-inert Spear.

Steve stepped forward quickly, but Fury was faster, using Stark’s momentum to spin him facedown onto the floor and twist his arm behind his back, shoving a knee into the small of his back when he bucked and twisted. Stark’s movements were sluggish still, coughing and sucking in jarring breaths as he tried to speak.

“He probably has liquid in his lungs,” Fury told the frozen medical personnel. “Sedatives. Stark, _calm down_ , man!”

Stark blinked dumbly at Fury, then he narrowed his eyes and glanced behind him. “You’re not Fury. And _you’re_ not Jarvis!” His voice was hoarse and weakened, but audible.

“Not the boy you knew at least, Mister Stark,” Jarvis said gently, with only the faintest of tremors. “I’m Robert. Remember? It was my birthday before you left for Norway. You gave me a train set. Red and white. Please calm down, Mister Stark.”

Stark stared at him, open-mouthed, then up at Fury’s inscrutable scowl, and then he began to laugh, his shoulders shaking silently at first, and then working up into a brittle sound just enough on the edge of hysteria for Steve to clench his teeth so tightly that his jaw ached. The shudder and sigh that Stark made as the needle slid home was a guilty relief, and Fury let go when Stark went boneless.

“Certainly should have seen that coming,” Fury said, rubbing absently at his jaw, as he stood back to let medical personnel lift Stark back onto the operating table. “Culture shock.”

“What’s going to happen to him?” Steve asked, watching one of the doctors page for a stretcher.

“Happily, the Stark Trust is a family trust. Mister Stark remains one of the beneficiaries.” Jarvis cut in. “I personally assure you that whatever he chooses, he will at least be able to live comfortably.”

“But the company no longer belongs to him. Stark Industries went public a long time ago.” Fury smiled again, his sharkish smile. “And the Stark Trust owns a controlling interest, the dividends paid out to other beneficiaries. Next of kin, foundations, and even your family, Jarvis. You’re the appointor, but you’re not the only trustee, and the money’s now wound up in a tight arrangement with no room for other parties, I hear.”

“Director-” Jarvis said stiffly, only to be cut off.

“Get a good set of lawyers, Jarvis. And good security that you can trust.”

Jarvis’ expression visibly crumpled at the last comment, the old man casting a brief glance down at Stark’s still body. “Of… of course. He’ll be fine in the… no, I’ll have him moved into the house-”

“And you’re so sure that your house is safe?” Fury countered. “He’ll go onto the SHIELD helicarrier. I’ll make sure you have access.”

“Stark Industries will not approve, Fury.” Jarvis recovered his composure. “Even if I were to agree to leave him to your dubious mercies.”

The SHIELD soldiers behind Jarvis tensed, and one of the female doctors gasped and dropped her clipboard. Stooping, Steve picked it up for her, and she offered him a quick, strained smile.

Quickly, he said, “I’ll stay with Stark, Jarvis. I’ll give you my word he won’t come to any harm.”

Jarvis stared at him, then at Fury, his eyes narrowed, but then he appeared to relent. “All right. Captain America’s word has definite currency with much of the world, I suppose. On one condition. Once Mister Stark is lucid enough to make his own decisions, then you must allow him to do so, Director.”

“You’ll be there to make sure that I do.” Fury said, rolling his shoulders into an expansive shrug.

“I can’t, not yet. I’m going to need to call Obadiah.” Jarvis said wearily. “God knows what he’s going to say. Or do.”

“Is he going to be a problem?” Steve asked. Fury, however, was silent, his single good eye already faraway, calculating probabilities. That, Steve found, was usually not a good sign, and he made a mental note to read up on Obadiah. He didn’t usually keep himself updated on the intricacies of Wall Street politics.

“I don’t know. This isn’t exactly a _normal_ occurrence, Captain.” Jarvis let out a deep sigh. “You’ll better make sure he’s never alone, Director. I’m trusting you this once. I’ll try and sort out the board of directors and Obadiah, and then the board of trustees. Then I’ll come and visit.”

“Actually, you should be there when he wakes up. Again.” Steve amended. “You’re the one face he managed to place.”

“He placed Fury as well,” Jarvis murmured, though his lips curled up briefly. Any passing reader of Marvels would have been well aware of the strained alliance between then-General Fury and Anthony Stark. “All right. I’ll call Obadiah from the helicarrier.”

IV.

As it turned out, thankfully, Fury’s dubious medical opinion had been incorrect. Save for a lower than normal body temperature that quickly corrected itself with no apparent side-effects, Stark was healthy, other than the glass and steel bubble that kept his weak heart moving. Having Jarvis about was useful at this point – he had seen and assisted his father in performing the procedure with Steve so often that even now he could manage to attach the recharge connections with what makeshift equipment and adaptors that SHIELD had aboard the helicarrier.

With Stark’s heart as it was, Steve was somewhat curious how he had stayed alive for this long, even with the Spear, but Fury’s opinion about magic defying logic stayed fixed.

Stark was out for the count, and Steve spent his time sitting on a chair by the hospital bed, balancing a (StarkTech) laptop on his knees and reading legal correspondence, providing tentative opinions that usually ended up being carefully disabused. Apparently, the best way to approach the matter was _not_ to do any ‘grandstanding’ in front of the Tribunal.

At least the pack of lawyers had been SHIELD affiliated. Which meant that they probably were going to be effective. Probably. Apparently Fury was going to provide a character reference. This was somehow disturbing on a fundamental level – Steve thought briefly over what Fury could possibly say about him in front of the world that was going to be fully flattering and fully honest, and had to smile.

Absorbed in reading his (pre-drafted) affidavit, Steve missed the change of breathing that marked Stark’s awakening, and flinched with a startled curse when cold fingers pressed against his elbow.

“You’re awake.” It was a stupid, obvious thing to blurt out, and Stark’s mouth curled briefly with amusement. His eyes were a little dazed, but he seemed lucid enough, looking around the room, then at the IV drip going into his arm. “I don’t think you should remove that.”

“I know what it is, Mister…?”

“I’m Steve.”

“You’re American.”

“Yeah.”

“And this is a SHIELD facility?”

“Yeah.”

“Good times,” Stark closed his eyes briefly.

“I’m not SHIELD,” Steve said, a little defensively.

“No, you didn’t look like it. Let me guess. US Army? Colonel, maybe, or Captain?”

“Captain.” Steve was impressed. “How did you know?”

“You mean, other than your posture and bearing, and the white shirt, dog tags and army fatigues pants?” Stark asked dryly.

“What about the rank?”

“Wild guess. If Fury’s anything like his father, I don’t think he’ll let privates or corporals hang around.”

There was more to it than that, but Steve decided that explaining the concept of the Avengers to Stark was going to be difficult at this point. “Yeah. I guess so. Not that I’ve ever met Thomas Fury.”

“Am I under arrest?”

“No!”

“So, a rescue then. Where’s the Spear?”

“Fury has it.”

Stark seemed to think this over. “Where’s Bert… Jarvis?”

“I can call him.” Jarvis had spent the first couple of days fussing over Stark, and then the rest of it arguing over his cell phone with unknown parties. “He’s uh, breaking the news to your company.”

“They’re over the moon, I expect.”

Steve hesitated, unsure of what to say, but his silence was more eloquent – Stark smirked. “They never liked me even when I was around. I doubt that changed much. So how long was I out? What year is it?”

“2010.” Steve said.

Stark’s eyes widened a little, but other than that, to Steve’s relief, there weren’t any further hysterics or any sort of denial. He wouldn’t know how to deal with that. “Oh. So what did I miss?”

“Uh.” Steve racked his brain for the best way to summarize the twenty-first century. “We elected a black President. Of the United States.”

Stark stared at him for such a long time that Steve wasn’t sure what to say next. Stark was from a time before Martin Luther King Jr., before the civil rights movement. His companion throughout his adventures had been Rhodey, and the comics had always been somewhat ambiguous on their friendship, just as it didn’t lend much detail to anything other than the latest villain/artifact that Stark was going after.

“Really,” Stark said finally. “That’s whacky.” As Steve reddened, offended despite himself, Stark added, thoughtfully, “So when I fell asleep and woke up again, the world became sane?”

“Well,” Steve said, relieved that he wasn’t about to have to deal with dated concepts of racial rights, “Not entirely.”

“Can you get me a paper? Or do we not have papers any longer?”

“We do, but we have something better.” Steve helped Stark sit up in bed, then closed all his windows and opened his laptop. “This is a computer.”

“So small?” Stark lifted it experimentally, turned it over carefully, listening to the whir of the fan. “Incredible.”

“And this,” Steve started up Chrome, wondering if he was about to make a mistake, “Is the Internet.” Stark stared blankly at the bright Google logo, then up at him. “Uh, I’ll just, well, it’s hard to explain, so I’ll just show… here, this is your company’s… er, Stark Industries’ webpage, it’s sort of like a public information sheet, and the laptop’s a touchscreen, like this.”

Stark took to the technology surprisingly quickly, and Steve left him awkwardly browsing his own company’s website as he called Jarvis and Fury.

Fury raised both eyebrows when he saw Stark tapping at Steve’s laptop, but made no comment. “Feeling better, Stark?”

“You’re just like your father,” Stark retorted, though he wore a faint smirk, his eyes fixed on the screen. “I dislike you already. How’s the General?”

Fury snorted. “Retired. Insisted on being placed into a nursing home. Spends his lucid days terrorizing the staff.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Stark looked up, concerned. “Is he ill?”

“We haven’t found a solution to dementia, unfortunately. On one of his better days, he might want to see you.”

“Sure. I mean… yeah, sure.” Stark’s expression twisted briefly. “Bert, what happened to…?”

“Car accident.” Jarvis said quietly. “It was instantaneous.”

“Good God.” Stark blinked rapidly. “What about Rhodey?”

Jarvis and Fury exchanged glances, and Steve looked down at his shoes, uncomfortable. James Rhodes had been one of four fatalities on Bloody Sunday, where the state troopers had with them a Stark Industries prototype of the Suppression Armor.

“Dead too, then.” At Steve’s nod, Stark sighed, but thankfully didn’t ask for details. “At this rate… Pepper?”

This was the easiest question. “She’s still writing. Novels, now, and the occasional column for Time Magazine.” Steve said. “Uh, I’m sure she’ll be really happy to see you.”

“Well, that’s good news at least,” Stark said, with a forced smile, looking back down at the laptop screen. “Bert, the Captain tells me that this is a public information page. So the information on it is correct?”

Jarvis circled past Steve to peer at the screen. “Yes.”

“When,” Stark said quietly, “Did we start making weapons again?”

“When you disappeared,” Jarvis seemed to have anticipated this question. “It is a long story.”

“Give me the gist.”

“The company went fully public, became one of the Fortune 500, and then it was a shareholder decision. The profits – and so the dividends – are considerable, and there was also government pressure. Your will had left the family trust with my father as appointor and trustee, but he did not have a seat on the board of directors. There was a long court battle, on the terms of your will and the terms of the trust. Father lost. Further trustees were added, court-appointed.”

“This is _wrong_.” Stark said accusingly. “The Armors were never meant for mass production. Fury, why didn’t your father _do_ anything?”

“SHIELD remains one of Stark Industries’ foremost customers of the Armors, Stark.” Fury said neutrally. “Whatever his personal opinions were, he’s practical. If there was going to be an arms race, SHIELD couldn’t be left in the dust.”

Stark stared tightly at the laptop screen, his jaw working, his lips drawn in a tight line. “Bert, get me out of here.”

“All right, Mister Stark.” Jarvis reached into his jacket pocket for his cell.

“Stark, you’ll be safest where you are right now.”

“I’m still a private American citizen, I think. You can’t order me to.” Stark retorted, folding his arms across his chest defiantly. “Or have things changed that much?”

“Fine.” Fury capitulated, if flatly, rather to Steve’s surprise, and then promptly added to it. “But you’ll take Rogers with you.”


	3. [fic] The Tower of Yesterday [3/?]

V.

After some argument, during which the Triskelion and Westchester were ruled out due to security risks (former) and the dubious morality of housing a possible assassination target in what was really a kid’s school (latter), it was grudgingly agreed that the next best civilian, neutral, non magical and technologically advanced set of lodgings in the country would be the Baxter building. Reed Richards readily agreed, probably out of curiosity if nothing else.

A year or so ago, due to constant complaints from the tenants of the floors below the Fantastic Four top five levels, the occasional villain’s attack and the even more occasional demonstration from various anti-superhuman special interest groups picketing the entrance, Reed Richards had purchased the entire building using government grants on some of his patents. Most of the floors from the first level up were purely security, some were for ‘testing’ purposes, some for non-essential storage, but there were two floors just under the mechanical level below the top five ‘living’ floors that had been stripped bare and left empty.

Part of the buffer zone, Reed said, a little guiltily, over the phone, but Stark had told Jarvis to accept, probably tired of all the running around and sounding suspicious about the delay. The Four stood in an uncomfortable huddle beside the security lifts as Steve, Jarvis, Fury and Stark stepped out. Thankfully, Stark didn’t bat an eye at Ben Grimm’s appearance, but then, if the contents of Marvels were true, he’d seen stranger sights in the Bone Plains under Nepal.

The floor was gray concrete and utterly bare, but in good condition. Still, without furniture, and nearing autumn, it wasn’t going to be comfortable. Steve turned around, about to insist that they move over to the Triskelion, when Susan cleared her throat.

“We actually do have a spare room. There’s a cot in the lab, Reed and I can sleep there until you get some furniture in here.”

“It won’t take long to get a furniture delivery,” Jarvis said, checking his watch. “We still have the better part of a day. But it’ll be quite… spartan, and there are no facilities.”

“There’s a basic setup for a bathroom, water piping and electricity,” Reed said apologetically, “But this floor hasn’t been used for a while. Even before I bought the whole building. Collins – the previous landlord – decided that a two floor buffer zone under the mechanical floor would probably make it safer for the other tenants.”

“Plus, that was the minimum necessary as a sound buffer for the lab explosions,” Johnny piped in. When his sister scowled at him, he shrugged. “What? I asked Mrs Ruthsword on the eighth floor just before she moved out.”

“If I’m going to be intruding,” Stark began, but Reed hastily interrupted.

“Oh no, you won’t be. I’ve read your blueprints and some of your notebooks. The Armors are reverse-engineered from your original suit, but some of the processes still aren’t entirely understood. I’ll love to discuss.”

Stark bristled visibly and shot Fury a hard, accusing stare, but the Director snorted. “Reed’s like this all the time. And don’t worry, he’s a private contractor only.”

Reed looked offended. “The only government contracts I take are all engineering, space exploration, portable infrastructure support or clean energy related, Director. I don’t make weapons and I never will. I can assure you that my interest in the Armors are prosthetic-related only.”

Stark relaxed. “All right then. But I won’t be kicking anyone out of their rooms. If there’s a spare bed in the lab, that would be perfect. Just like home.” A proud man used to being a rich man, Steve noted: having to rely on another’s charity was probably new, and hard to swallow. Until everything was sorted out, however, it was going to be necessary – all the Stark Industries and Trust properties were going to be security risks, and it was better to be paranoid than sorry. “Captain, you don’t have to be here all the time.”

“I guess.” The Four and the security systems in place on the Baxter building were going to be good security – so long as Stark _stayed_ in the building. “I’ll check in on you now and then until you settle in.”

Stark nodded at him, but his expression was carefully neutral now. Steve told himself that it didn’t hurt to see it, and besides, it wasn’t as though Stark didn’t have enough compelling reasons to distrust him. With the US military also heavily investing in the Armor technology, Stark probably wasn’t going to be sure about anyone wearing dogtags or fatigues for a while. Still, he couldn’t help the sense of disappointment and frustration that settled as a leaden blanket over his shoulders as they crowded into the lift.

He kept silent during Reed’s awkward tour of the Four’s multi-floor headquarters, and finally left Stark standing beside one of Reed’s consoles in his lab, bombarding the scientist with a hundred questions, Jarvis at his side. On their way down, Fury sniffed, a little disapprovingly.

“He should be safe with Reed. I’ve spoken to Ben and Sue, who are less likely to get distracted by blueprints or pretty girls.”

“Yeah.” Steve exhaled. “I suppose so.”

“Something wrong, Captain?”

“No.” Steve was a damned poor liar; Fury smirked.

“Well, you were the one who showed him that bloody website.”

“He would have found out anyway.”

“True. But try to remember to check in on him. Even once that damned Tribunal hearing starts.”

“I will.” Steve eyed Fury thoughtfully. “You’re being very solicitous about his well being.”

“Obadiah’s out of control. We’ve got it on good grounds that he’s been selling prototype Armor technology to the highest bidder. The Chinese, maybe even North Korea. It’s a disaster waiting to happen. If Stark can regain control of his company, the world would be better for it.”

“You know I don’t like the Armor technology,” Steve said flatly. “I’m not going to try and convince him to make it a US-only enterprise.”

“Rogers, I’ll be happy if it was going to be a no-country enterprise.”

“SHIELD isn’t a country, is it?”

“Don’t be smart with me, son.” Fury’s expression, however, was unreadable.

“I don’t see any other reason why you keep insisting that I get acquainted with him.” Steve retorted, unrelenting.

“Another option that I was considering,” Fury added, a little irritably, “If he’s bent on the Armor technology and intends to get himself into a suit again, which would probably be bloody likely at this rate, at least get him under control by having him join the Avengers. He isn’t used to new technology. If he’s going to run around as a great big target like he used to, at least he’ll have the rest of you backing him up. We need him alive to try and sort out Obadiah.”

“Oh.” That possibility hadn’t occurred to Steve – as always, it seemed that Fury was not only ten steps ahead but also ten _possibilities_ ahead. “I’ll try. But he doesn’t like me. You’ll have better luck sending in Jan, or Natasha. Given his reputation in the comics.”

“Hank Pym is possessive and Stark will be suspicious of Natasha once he finds out that she’s part of SHIELD. The rest of your team is good, but not exactly… good with people.”

“I’ll tell them you said that.”

“Besides, you don’t know half of what he was like just from the comics,” Fury muttered to himself, but refused to answer any further questions or talk until they were out on the street. “Keep in touch, Captain. And debrief your team while you’re at it. Jarvis is going to arrange a press conference. I want whoever’s free running interference.”

“If I’m recognized-”

“Then make sure you aren’t. Natasha should be able to help you out there.” There was a brief pause. “But no black spandex or ski masks, please.”

VI.

“Oh my God,” Pepper Potts said weakly, as Stark and Steve were shown into her office. Her red curls had long faded into gray-white, tied into a prim bun, and although she had aged gracefully her skin was parchment-crinkled, paper-pale, the veins ridged over delicate bones. Pepper wore an unashamedly fire-engine red jacket over a trim white work-cut dress, and her eyes were still sharp and clear as she rose from her chair to shake Stark by the hand, mannish, then she laughed and leaned forward to accept a kiss on both cheeks. “ _Tony_.”

“You haven’t changed in the least.”

“Liar,” Pepper said affectionately.

“All right, I take that back,” Stark said, with a sly grin. “You’re more beautiful than ever, baby-doll.”

“Flatterer.”

“Also a thief and a scoundrel.”

“Blackguard, pirate.” Pepper laughed. “Sit down, please. Sit down. And hello, Captain America.”

“Please, call me Steve.”

“Then you must call me Pepper. I think it’s the first time we’ve met.”

“It isn’t,” Steve absently corrected, then at Pepper’s tilt of her head, added, rather shamefacedly, “I, uh, used to attend the cons when I was a kid. Conventions,” he elaborated, when Stark shot him a confused expression.

“A fan of the comics?” Pepper grinned.

“Big fan. I’ve managed to get you to sign most of my copies.” Steve confessed, sitting down on a cushioned chair beside Stark.

“I’m sure I would have recognized a man like you coming up the line,” Pepper winked, saucy and unrepentant even at her age.

“I was a different kid then. Skinny and freckled like you wouldn’t imagine.” Steve felt his ears begin to redden from embarrassment, even as Stark snickered, evidently enjoying his discomfort.

“Charming as the thought of Captain America asking for my signature is, it’s great to see you, Tony.” Pepper said warmly. “The world’s turned a fair bit, and you’ve missed all the fun parts.”

“So I’ve heard. I’ve just been introduced to this sweet invention called the Internet, and I think I’m in love.”

“Heaven forbid. Have you been watching videos of kittens throwing up on floors?”

“No. But it was tempting.” Stark’s wicked, playful little smirk was so easy on the eyes that Steve didn’t realize he was staring outright until Pepper’s right eyebrow rose briefly. Hastily, Steve looked behind Pepper, at the framed mint editions of the Marvels issues that she had penned. Thankfully, Stark didn’t seem to notice. “I’ve been learning. There’s a lot to catch up on.”

“I hear you’ve moved in with the Four?”

“Is this an interview, Miss Potts?” Stark’s smirk widened. “I hear you’re an ace word-slinger now.”

“Those are words that I haven’t heard in seventy years, Tony,” Pepper chuckled. “It could be an interview, if you’ll like.”

“No dice, Pepper,” Stark said wryly. “I think I’ve had enough of the press for now, no offense.”

“I saw the press conference,” Pepper was fighting a smile.

“Looks like you enjoyed it.”

“I was ready to turn off the telly until you announced that you were going to get rid of all the Armors,” Pepper said dryly. “After that it looked like shark season.”

Steve winced. As a declaration of war, it hadn’t been subtle or in particularly good timing, and the directors of Stark Industries had ended up with egg on their proverbial faces. Fury had been in a very poor mood, afterwards, but Stark had been utterly unrepentant.

“That bit was good, wasn’t it?” Stark looked proud of himself.

“Up until you get yourself killed, sure. I thought Obadiah was going to burst a vein. It probably hurt his teeth to smile and shake you by the hand afterwards.”

“Pepper, we’ve explored Aztec ruins, the Bone Plains, the Under Road, the Eastern Marches,” Stark said carelessly. “Being in danger doesn’t faze me none.”

“You definitely haven’t changed.” Pepper glanced over at Steve. “I suppose Fury assigned you to make sure Tony doesn’t buy the farm too early. Have you started taking blood pressure prescriptions yet?”

“No,” Steve said, keeping his expression straight. “But I think the Director probably is, at this rate.”

“Anyway,” Stark mock scowled at Pepper, “I’m actually here to offer you a job again, Miss Potts. Though I’ve been made aware that I actually don’t own a greenback to my name at present until the lawyers sort out some issues, so you’ll have to be an unsecured creditor for the time being. Again, there’ll be danger involved, the exciting sort.”

“I’m a little too old to go haring after you again to the ends of the earth, Tony,” Pepper said regretfully. “But if you want any recommendations, I know quite a few talented younger people who would die for the chance.”

“I’m preparing for a personal war, Pepper. And I’m aware that words matter as much as actions, still. I’m asking you to help let the world know what I’m doing. I’ll tell you what I can, when I can. And I’m asking you,” Stark lowered his voice, “To tell me straight out to my face if what I’m doing is wrong, at any time.”

Pepper stared at him thoughtfully, then at Steve’s blink of surprise, and then she smiled, slow and pleased. “Tall words, Mister Stark.”

“You’ve always known that I was bad news, Miss Potts.”

“Then,” Pepper extended her pale hand across the table, “It’ll just be like old times.”

VII.

Money showed that it could work fast when judiciously applied – within the week the topmost level of the ‘buffer zone’ was absolutely unrecognizable. It was now a luxurious, sleek open-plan penthouse floor in black enamel, silver and green glass, complete with potted plants, LCD screens, a pair of bathrooms, one with a Jacuzzi, and even a pair of guest bedrooms. Framed pieces of landscape acrylics and watercolors adorned the walls, and there was even a small, Zen-like water feature near the kitchen, complete with smooth, dark pebbles.

Susan Storm pursed her lips as she followed them out of the lifts, and Johnny whistled appreciatively as Jarvis gave them a brief tour.

“What’s going to be downstairs?” Ben rumbled, after they were back at the lifts. “An Olympic swimming pool complete with a floating disco dance floor?”

“Your interests are so vanilla, Ben,” Johnny teased, but Ben merely rolled his eyes at him.

“It’ll be a laboratory,” Stark shot Reed an apologetic glance. “Yours is dynamite, Reed, but I think I’m crowding in on your space a little.”

“Oh no, not really,” Reed said, though he looked a little relieved. “But until yours is ready, I’ll be happy to keep helping you get up to terms with modern technology. And you’ll only be a floor away if I can assist you with anything.”

At the kitchenette, a man in a smartly cut suit who looked like he was probably around Steve’s age was mixing mocktails at the kitchenette counter. When he handed them out, balancing the drinks expertly on a round tray, Jarvis added, “And this is my nephew, Arthur Jarvis. I can’t be here all the time, Mister Stark, so Arthur will be your assistant.”

“I look forward to working with you, Mister Stark.” Arthur shook hands with a startled Stark.

“Good God. Three generations of Jarvis?” Stark gaped.

“The proper word there is probably ‘Jarvii’,” Johnny suggested.

Stark ignored him. “Arthur doesn’t really look like you, Bert.”

“Indeed, Mister Stark,” Arthur said, expressionless, even as Robert inclined his head and said, “He takes after his mother.”

“I don’t need an assistant, Bert. I’m sure Arthur has better things to do with his time. Besides, until I get up to speed with this era, I’m going to be spending most of my time in Reed’s lab.”

“Arthur has other skills that will be relevant to your work, Mister Stark,” Robert disagreed. “After that press conference, you’re going to need his help.”

“I’m a hacker,” Arthur said helpfully. At Stark’s blank expression, he elaborated, “I can steal information from the Stark Industries databases. Such as their latest blueprints for the Armors.”

“You’re going to help me?” Stark glanced sharply at Robert, his expression drawn tight with hope. At the old man’s wry smile, he breathed out harshly. “God. I prayed that you would. I didn’t know what you were going to do. Everyone seemed to think I was going bloody bonkers.”

“Well,” Reed cleared his throat.

“Other than you, Reed. All right. And your family. And Pepper.”

“And me,” Steve surprised himself by saying. Stark stared at him silently, scrutinizing him, but Steve met his eyes evenly, until the other man looked away.

“I’m going to be honest and tell you straight up that I don’t know what to make of you, Captain. _But_ Pepper told me to give you a chance, so I’ll think about it. It happened when she asked you to step outside the office for a moment,” Stark explained, when Steve frowned and rewound the conversation in Pepper’s office.

“I won’t let you down, Mister Stark.” Steve promised, warmth curling tight in his chest.

“We’re all going to be on a first name basis. You too, Arthur.” Arthur and Robert instantly assumed identical scandalized expressions, and Tony relented briefly. “All right then, in your own time.”

“We’ll be upstairs if you need us,” Susan squeezed Tony’s hand briefly, Johnny clapped him on the back, and Ben carefully offered a gentle handshake. “Try not to blow up the place.”

“I don’t even have the lab up and running yet,” Tony pointed out defensively.

“My opinion stands, Tony. Reed, come on. We’ll let Tony get settled in, then he’ll probably be back to pester you about fusion technology again.”

When the lift pinged close, Robert looked at his watch. “I tried to delay things, but you’ll have to meet the board of directors tomorrow morning, Mister Stark. Arthur will be able to brief you on whatever you need or want to know beforehand.”

“Including the current world’s best brand of whisky?” Tony asked facetiously.

“Do elaborate, Mister Stark,” Arthur said promptly. “Malt? Grain? Bourbon?”

“Scotch.”

“The blue label Johnnie Walkers are still popular,” Arthur said instantly, “But I know a man who knows a person who might be able to get his or her hands on an antique Macallan for a good price.”

“All right. You’re hired.” Tony looked to Robert. “I have another question. I rather thought I was broke.”

“Father never thought you had died,” Robert said soberly. “He made a few private investments from the dividends. It’s really your money. No, I insist,” the old man added firmly, when Tony grimaced.

“I’ll pay you back,” Tony disagreed. “It’s your family’s money. I made your father trustee for a reason. I wanted all of you to be comfortable if I were to die. It was the least I could do for getting him into all those scrapes.”

Robert disagreed, and in the ensuing argument Steve finished his mocktail and headed for the sink, only for Arthur to delicately swipe the glass from him and wash it himself. Steve was about to try and make an attempt to wrest it back, but was saved from probable indignity when his phone rang, with the particular ascending tone reserved for the Avengers.

“Hello?”

“Steve, get your ass back to the Triskelion,” Luke sounded irritable. “You need to see this.”


	4. [fic] The Tower of Yesterday [4/?]

VIII.

Steve had been to what Fury calls the ‘post-50’ exclusive levels of Stark Industries before, usually on some random public relations military exercise, and so he knows the room that the pretty and leggy 50th floor receptionist shows them to. It’s the touristy one, with the encompassing view of the sprawling New York concrete and glass jungle, with the low white leather bench framing the view, the rest of the room plinths and paintings and pedestals hinting at the wealth and power of the giant of the weapons industry.

Arthur looks carefully around the room, eyes a seemingly innocuous corner of the ceiling, then walks in a careful, prowling circle around the perimeter in a manner that makes Steve seriously doubt that the slender young man is _really_ related to Robert Jarvis in any way. In a way, it’s a relief – Steve had been having doubts about Tony’s security now that the man had moved out of the top five floors of the Baxter building.

Tony, however, is oblivious to how Robert’s ‘nephew’ is obviously a very sophisticated bodyguard in the guise of a hacker-butler-bartender, instead studying framed photographs on the wall with an air of wry nostalgia. Old photographs of Tony himself, his father, his grandfather, and even a mint copy of the first issue of Marvels, yellowed and cracking at the edges, signed on the cover with Tony’s flowing scrawl.

Tony was examining a miniature model of the Anti-Crime Armor MK 7 when Obadiah sauntered into the room. Tall, imposing, his expressive face wreathed with a graying beard, the de facto head of the Stark Industries board of directors shook Tony’s hand, then Steve’s, in a rough, ready grip that could be taken as honesty. If he hadn’t been so disabused by Fury, and then by Robert, Steve would even have liked the man instinctively.

“Anthony Stark. I can’t tell you how much it means to me, to be able to meet you. It’s a miracle.” Obadiah smiled warmly, and Steve watches as Tony’s spine stiffened. “I grew up on your books. Remarkable stuff.”

“That’s good to hear, I hope,” Tony said dryly. “Mister Stane, I presume.”

“I’m Obadiah to my friends,” Obadiah said, and Steve found himself subjected to a surprisingly steely stare. “And this must be Captain America. What a surprise.”

Steve nodded, mouthing automatic pleasantries, ignoring the clear question in Obadiah’s narrowed eyes and pursed lips. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

“Where’s Robert?” Tony asked peremptorily. “He asked me to meet him here.”

“Something cropped up in the office, I believe. He’ll be here shortly,” Obadiah said smoothly. “I thought I’ll pop by to introduce myself before we meet the other directors. So it won’t feel like you’re falling in with total strangers.”

“If this is about what I said yesterday in the press conference-”

“Well, I have to admit that it was surprising,” Obadiah said mildly. “To say the least. But I can’t say that I couldn’t understand your motives.”

“You can’t?” Tony blinked, taken aback.

“The Armor technology was your brainchild, after all. I know what I would feel like if something I made out of my sweat and blood was suddenly mass produced by seemingly everyone without my knowledge. Also, we do know about Mister Rhodes. It was tragic. A real hero of the civil rights movement.”

Tony’s jaw was clenched tight. “I sure hope so. And so-”

“And so, if you’ll pardon me cutting through there, Tony,” Obadiah said urbanely, “Is your answer to the soldiers and civilians killed every day by gunfire to stop the guns companies from manufacturing guns, stop people from having them?”

“Well-”

“Worldwide, Stark Industries employs tens of thousands of men and women, Tony. More than five thousand full-time just in this building alone. More than eighty per cent of our employees are engaged in the manufacture of the Armor technology. We give them the best healthcare that we can through our own insurance arm, we have programs to help their kids through school, even up to the tertiary level. Hell, we have support systems even for those with kids born with special needs.” Obadiah’s voice remained gentle, but Tony seemed frozen now. “If we stop building Armors, it’ll be catastrophic. We’ll have to lay off staff. Restructure.”

“Stark Industries makes other products,” Tony rallied, his tone vehement. “Things that don’t tear people apart as easily as tearing paper, things that everyone can use. The Armors are the next highest cause of weapons-related deaths in the world, Obadiah. We don’t need that sort of blood on our hands.”

“Neither do we need the blood of all the people we’re meant to be responsible for,” Obadiah countered. “There was a recession a couple years back. We were the only company that kept on employing at our usual rates, that retained _everyone_. We couldn’t have done that making cell phones and laptops and novelty lamps, Tony. We did that by making the one resource that nobody else has the technological knowhow to manufacture at this level, and this quality.”

“Energy is another resource everyone needs,” Tony retorted. “What about we go into that?”

“We already are. Tony. I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to tell you. It’s not like we were just making plain old smart missiles and land mines, things that other people with the right resources could make. We make something that _no one else_ in the world can make, not even the Chinese, not even the Japanese,” Obadiah said gently, almost sorrowfully, “This doesn’t have to be difficult. The other directors and I, most of us put our heart and soul into this company because of your comics. You’re a hero to many of us. Some of us are second or even third generation Stark Industries employees. We’ll love for you to come back.”

“Sounds like that isn’t automatic.” Tony pointed out flatly.

“Unfortunately not. Stark Industries is public listed now. It’s no longer a one-leader company. We answer to shareholders, to the American economy, to America’s continued superiority in the arms race from our exclusive contracts. But if you want to come back, I’ll move Heaven and Earth to make it happen.” Obadiah’s smile was artfully innocent. “And if you can invent something that can overtake what revenue we make from the Armors, that can allow us to keep giving back to our workers what we give them now, of course we’ll be happy to consider making the switch. We can set you up in one of our labs, give you all the support and resources you need. You don’t need to rely on Robert’s money.”

“So I’ll rely on your money instead.”

“On a salary, no strings attached.” Obadiah corrected. “Waking up’s a real shock, I’ll bet. I don’t know how you can even begin to deal with it. Hell, if I were in your shoes, I’ll have to be locked up in the funny farm by now. So we’ll be happy to give you a bit of time to think things over. This meeting’s just going to be a friendly meet and greet. No gauntlet throwing, no declarations of war. All right?”

Tony visibly wavered, and then he sighed. “Okay. I feel like I’ve been put through the wringer these few days. Maybe I haven’t been thinking straight. I’ll think about what you’ve said, Obadiah.”

“You do that, Tony. Please take care of yourself. I’ll go and get Robert, and then you can all meet us in the boardroom.” Obadiah shook hands with all of them again, then inclined his head and left the room in confident strides.

Steve counted silently to ten. “Tony, did you really-”

“We’ll talk later, Steve.” Tony stalked up to the tempered glass, his hands folded tightly behind his back, glaring out at the skyline. “Arthur, try and get me that Macallan.”

“Immediately, Mister Stark.” Arthur whipped out a cell phone.

“I don’t think the answer to any question lies at the end of a bottle.”

“Then you haven’t been asking the right questions, Captain,” Tony said, though the edge of his lip curled up briefly. “Or drinking from the right bottles. Frankly,” he added, as Steve frowned, “I don’t trust anyone right now. I don’t _know_ who to trust right now.”

Steve had seen that coming, so he was better prepared to roll with it. “I understand that, Tony.”

Arthur snapped the phone shut. “The Macallan will arrive this evening, sir.”

“ _But_ I’m willing to reevaluate my opinions,” Tony amended brightly, spinning on his heel. “Arthur, find your uncle. Let’s go and take a gander at what’s been done to my company.”

IX.

“How did I go?” Tony asked, once the limo began to pull away from the curb.

“How did you think you went?” Steve had been expecting a grilling, but rather like Obadiah (or perhaps because of him), the other directors had been polite. Some had even been friendly. Tony had ended up shaking them all by the hand and they had proceeded to sit through some sort of promotional information media show about the company. Steve had seen the blitz before, on his last trip up post-50 in the company of Fury and the President, and had spent it surreptitiously observing the board of directors instead.

Obadiah had seemed at ease, except for the hard look in his eyes, but some of the others had been tense, fidgeting or playing with expensive pens. They were genuinely _afraid_ of Tony, Steve had realized. Afraid of a man who’d woken up sixty, seventy years into the future, who had never seen a computer smaller than a big room, who didn’t even know what the Internet was. And Tony hadn’t done anything to reassure them in the least.

It had made him feel protective. Even if Fury didn’t instruct him to, Steve couldn’t leave Tony to his own devices, not now. If anything, it seemed that Pepper hadn’t been exaggerating in the stories when she’d repeatedly mentioned Tony’s flagrant disinterest in his personal safety.

“I think a tank of piranhas just realized that the bait wasn’t edible. Bunch of rat bastards,” Tony said, smug and self-congratulatory. “Bert looks stressed.”

Robert and Arthur were seated facing Steve and Tony in the sleek black leather interior. Arthur was primly alert, darting glances out of the bulletproof windows, but Robert smiled wearily at Tony in return. “Stressed probably doesn’t cover it, Mister Stark. I don’t think you did very much to ease their fears, if that was what you set out to do.”

Tony ignored the comment. “I need some information on Stark Industries. How many people we employ, the apportionment of profits, locations.”

“Arthur can do that.” Bert nodded, even as Arthur began typing into his phone. “The information will be with you by tonight.”

“You didn’t believe Obadiah?” Steve asked.

“He had no reason to lie to me.” Tony drummed his fingers in a sharp staccato on the armrest. “It doesn’t change things.”

“It doesn’t?” Steve said, incredulous. “What about all those people employed by the company? I got a bad feeling from the directors, but America’s still in a recession. There’s high unemployment. The healthcare still ain’t fixed; there’s been reports of people who could die because they don’t have the proper insurance. Anyone who’s let go may not be able to find a job anywhere else.”

“It doesn’t change my _intention_ ,” Tony corrected himself. “But I guess I’m going to need a Plan B.”

“What was Plan A?” Steve was almost afraid to find out.

“There are a few weaknesses to the Armors that I couldn’t work out even before, that have been repeated in all of these newer ones, at least based on what I could tell from the schematics that Reed had on file. Given time, I’m sure Reed and I could get something together which could shut down the Armors. Or make them obsolete. Then Stark Industries will have to make something else. But it’s too drastic for now, I think.”

“If you could get something together that’ll be good,” Steve muttered. “It’ll be a big help.”

“Why?”

“A shipment of the Armors was stolen half a year ago. Since then there have been rogue Armor attacks, spread out around the globe but mostly concentrated in the United States, England and Australia.”

“Who the hell wants to attack Australia?” Tony quipped, though his brow furrowed. “Does this have to do with your phone call yesterday? You left abruptly.”

Steve hadn’t thought Tony had even noticed, given how he had been hovering over Arthur as the assistant set up a computer and wifi, asking a fusillade of questions. It was… rather gratifying, in a way that Steve was more than honest enough to call pathetic. Tony was magnetic in real life, full of energy and determination, and Steve’s long-standing childhood crush on the hero of the comics seemed to be creeping back, curling dangerously and insidiously around the edges of his common sense.

“Yes. The Avengers have been assisting local military or police with the attacks. Yesterday’s call was regarding a video message from one of the Middle Eastern extremist groups, claiming responsibility for the attacks to date. SHIELD has since disproved it, though, so it was a dud end.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Tony promised thoughtfully. “But I can’t do much based on blueprints.”

“We’ve got pieces of the last few sets of rogue Armors stored at the Triskelion. I can get you access to those. I don’t think SHIELD will let us take any out, though,” Steve conscientiously added, when Tony brightened up visibly. “And I doubt Fury will agree to let Reed anywhere near it.”

“It’s something to think about. Once I get a better grasp of modern particle mechanics.” Tony rubbed his hands. “Bert, let’s swing by Pepper’s. I think I’ve got enough for her to work on for today.”

X.

After suppressing a rogue Armor attack in Toronto (why Toronto?) that had ended up with Jan nursing a broken arm, then flying back to New York for a three-hour conference with the pack of lawyers, Steve was ready to collapse into bed in his quarters at the Triskelion, but stubborn duty or sheer habit found him at the Baxter building instead.

Arthur looked him over wordlessly when he let Steve into the apartment, and Steve was abruptly aware that he probably should have showered before he had come on over. “Uh… is Tony busy?”

“Mister Stark is reading,” Arthur said neutrally, stepping aside to latch the door behind Steve. “Would you like some coffee, sir?”

“Please don’t call me sir. And coffee would be great. Long black, please.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Hedonist,” Tony called from the couch. Tony’s back was to him, his feet propped up on the soft, rich brown leather, the now ever-present laptop on his knees. Steve poured himself gratefully into the love-seat, stifling a yawn. “You look bloody knackered.”

“You could say that.” The hearing was starting tomorrow. “How was your day?”

“Frustrating. Reed tried to extrapolate on nanotechnology and I just couldn’t grasp what he was trying to say.” Tony glared at his screen. “There’s so much to take in. There’s so much to _learn_.”

“So you’re taking a break by watching videos of kittens?” Steve accepted the coffee gratefully from Arthur, who promptly seemed to retreat into the background, probably to dig up more dirt on Stark Industries, or whatever Tony asked him to look up nowadays.

“I’m reading up on what he said, obviously,” Tony said, sounding tetchy, not appreciating the joke. “I need to learn faster.”

“You’re already doing what you can.”

“It’s not enough. Didn’t one of your teammates get hurt today? It was on the news.”

“Jan’s been through worse. I think her pride was hurt more than her arm.”

“It shouldn’t have happened. Not with my technology. Rhodey was-” Tony cut himself off, swallowed convulsively, then crossed his legs. “Maybe you think I’m like a child. My stuff was taken from me and now I’ll rather destroy it than let anyone else keep it.”

“I’ve seen what your Armors can do, Tony. If you can somehow decommission them all, I’m all for it.”

“You don’t mean that. You’re from the army.”

Steve was tired and stressed from the upcoming trial, and he snapped without thinking. “I saw a civilian woman holding what was left from her child after he stood too close to one of the SmartTek embeds when it went off in Afghanistan. The kid couldn’t be more than four and he was ripped up from the chest down, he was breathing but it was too late for anything. She cursed me. She cursed all of us. The next embed killed her before I could get her out of the way. I felt…” Steve trailed off when he realized Tony was staring at him, wide-eyed and pale. “Sorry. You didn’t need to hear that.”

“Steve… Captain… I don’t know…” Tony swore under his breath, and then slammed his fists on the slim keyboard, making Steve wince. “God _damnit_.”

“Look. I’m tired, and you’re tired.” Steve said gently. “I didn’t want to upset you. And the Armors aren’t your fault, Tony. You don’t blame the gunmaker when a gun kills someone.”

“You might if the gun could-”

“Beating yourself up over it isn’t going to help.”

Tony flashed him an angry glare. “Then what? If you think I’m just going to let it all wash over me…” he took in a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. Yeah. I’m tired.” Tony managed a crooked smile. “Not really what you expected, yeah?”

“Expected what?” Steve asked warily.

“It’s been quite a few days and I haven’t run off to the North Pole or something to bring back Santa Claus’ blue balls.”

Steve laughed, despite himself. “Well, whenever you decide to, I’m coming along.”

“I’ve been reading up. That’s the great thing about this current age. You can find out everything you want so quickly.”

“I’m not sure it’s entirely correct or objective,” Steve warned.

“Still, nothing like reading war reports with graphic photographs to remind a man that a weak heart should be the least of his troubles.” Tony eyed his coffee. “I want a coffee.”

Steve had almost gotten to his feet when Arthur seemed to materialize at the kitchen counter, already measuring out the coffee. Settling back into the love seat, Steve smiled, amused. “So have you decided what to do?”

“Pepper had some suggestions. I’m still thinking it over.” Tony began typing again. “What about you? I read about your case.” Steve braced himself, but Tony continued tapping at the keyboard, only looking up when Arthur presented him with coffee and just as efficiently melted back into one of the spare rooms.

“I hear I have a good chance to make an utter fool of myself.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“The lawyers are confident.”

“They usually are, if they’ve already been paid in advance.”

“Besides, I’m only there as a witness. The counterclaim’s going to be struck out.”

“That’s good.” Tony said vaguely, as some article on the laptop screen caught his eye. Grateful for the reprieve, Steve sat in comfortable silence, watching the light-dotted blanket over the darkening city.

It lasted until the coffee cups were in the sink and Steve was dozing gently into the cushions of the love seat. His phone’s ringtone made Tony flinch, and Steve, startled, nearly fell out of the seat himself.

“Steve speaking.”

“There’s been another incident.” Jan sounded exhausted.

“Jan, you should be resting.”

“I’m not going to sit around while my husband goes on call.”

“We’ll have this conversation later. I’m coming back.” Steve dropped the call and found Tony watching him intently.

“Another Armor incident?”

“Uh, no.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Captain.”

“I’ve been told.” Steve dared to squeeze Tony’s shoulder gently as he passed. “Don’t stay up too late.”

“Yes, mother,” Tony said snidely, but Steve was aware of his worried stare following him out of the apartment.


	5. [fic] The Tower of Yesterday [5/?]

[A/N: As this is all pretty much post-Iron Man Noir AU, I should note that I have free reign to decide who is in the Avengers and how old they are, etc. I’ll keep what I like from some of the comics. Steve is 29 (same as Chris Evans – psyching myself up for the movie!), Peter and Jan are slightly younger.]

XI.

“Cheer up, ducky,” Jan said brightly, as Steve automatically caught the glossy magazine tossed in his direction. “I bought you porn.”

Steve froze, and Luke spat his coffee over the sleek glass dining table. As Steve leaned back to swipe the cloth off the kitchen island behind him, Peter peeked at his hand, and looked disappointed. “It’s only Vanity Fair. That interview with Pepper.”

“There are naked pictures of Tony Stark on the centerfold.” Jan said, with the authoritative tone of someone who probably bought her own copy, and Steve overbalanced and fell heavily off his chair.

“There are _not_ ,” Peter said indignantly, with a glare of someone who _definitely_ had bought his own copy, even as Steve awkwardly picked himself off the ground and righted the chair, bright red to his ears. “But that heart bubble is a lot less gross than I thought it would be.”

“It’s not gross,” Steve muttered, pointedly placing the unopened magazine on the table beside his pancakes and coffee, and tried not to look at the glossy photo of Tony from the waist up on the cover, his smile lazy and playful, dressed in a suit with the top two buttons of his shirt unbuttoned. _God_. Steve drank a gulp of apple juice and shifted uncomfortably in his chair as his pants seemed to tighten.

Luke shot all of them a long-suffering stare, and left the rec room, taking his plate of pancakes with him. It was probably a good thing that Bruce and Hank were in the labs, Thor was at another Greenpeace protest in Brazil and Natasha was away on SHIELD business, Steve reflected. “And thanks, Jan.”

“I’m going with you to the tribunal.” Jan said next, plopping down on the chair beside him.

“This one’s not public,” Steve said, even as Peter corrected, “Technically, Jan, it’s a court-martial. A military tribunal is for the trial of enemy forces.”

“But a court-martial is held by a tribunal, right?”

“It’s an important distinction,” Peter said, injured. “It’s the sort of distinction that would warrant a printed correction on the front page and a private asskicking by the chief editor. And I like my ass.”

“That’s very good, Peter. Most men don’t appreciate their asses.” Jan said encouragingly, with a sidelong and incomprehensible glance at Steve that he returned blankly.

Coffee refocused the world into some measure of sanity. “Jan, you can’t go. And besides, tomorrow is just going to be opening statements. You’ll either end up bored, or-”

“Punch those bastards in the face?”

“I’ve been told that violence only exacerbates matters,” Steve said, poker-faced. “As would any attempt to ‘tell it as it is’. I’m just going to have to show up. I won’t even be saying anything. Besides, you don’t like Washington.”

“You’ll probably be away for _ages_ ,” Jan complained. “The Triskelion will be attacked by aliens in your absence.”

“I don’t have to be there everyday. I hope. They just wanted me to be there for the opening statements.” Steve shuddered at the thought. Come to think of it, the pack of lawyers had all moved as a body to their Washington office for the time being, which didn’t bode well. “I’ll ask Fury about it.”

“I’ll be so bored,” Jan declared, with her chin between her palms. “Also, I don’t know if I told you, but I met Tony yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” Steve thought back quickly over his day. “Yesterday _when_?”

“At the Gramercy Park Hotel, obviously,” Peter said, hopping over the kitchen island to root in the fridge. “Motion Picture and Television Fund, charity gala. I wasn’t invited.”

“You remember what happened the last time I sneaked you into one of those parties, Peter.”

“It was only _one_ photograph.”

“He went to a _party_?” Steve asked incredulously, interrupting the bickering. “He wasn’t hurt?”

Jan’s stare was searching, even as Peter swallowed a sound that was suspiciously like a bubble of laughter. “No, ducky, he arrived with Miss Potts and two Jarvises, and was only mildly mauled by New York celebrity society. I think at one point he took a picture with Robert. _Downey_ Jr,” Jan elaborated in a drawl, at Steve’s blank stare. “You know, the guy who acted as him in that movie?”

Oh, right. “Did that go down well?”

“Strangely enough, nothing burned down in your absence, Steve. You were busy with your case, and besides, the younger Jarvis obviously was in the military at some point. Also,” Jan said, “It was a good move for him. A lot of people wanted to shake him by the hand over that press conference. You need names and money to get things done, and a charity gala is a good place to radiate love and peace.”

“That’s true.” Steve said, uncomfortable. Tony had taken a very calculated risk. He’d have to raise it with him later, once he had the time.

“You know,” Jan smiled, catlike, “He asked me a lot of questions about you.”

“He asks _me_ a lot of questions about me.” Steve countered. Next to Peter, Jan was the youngest member of the Avengers, and for someone who had grown up in wealth (or perhaps because of it), she had a sense of humor that occasionally leaned towards terrible pranks. Getting attached to someone as serious as Hank hadn’t seemed to help, either.

“Like where you usually stay and what you do, about the case, whether you were attached, what you liked to do in your spare time…”

Those weren’t the questions that Tony had asked Steve about _Steve_ , but he was determined not to follow Jan’s train of thought, which usually turned out to be a disaster for those who did. “Jan, I bet a lot of people ask you all that about me.”

“So I told him you were bi and that you’ve had an ongoing crush on him since you were a kid,” Jan said carelessly, and stole a forkful of Steve’s pancakes.

Peter dropped the cereal box.

Steve took a deep breath. “ _JANET_.”

“It’s been ages since Sharon and even longer since that spotty kid, ducky. Besides, if it were _me_ , and James Dean had somehow come back to life hotter than before, _I_ wouldn’t hesitate.”

“You have _Hank_.” Peter said in a muffled voice, from where he was cleaning up the kitchen floor.

“True.” Jan looked briefly regretful. “I guess we’ll just have to have a threesome. Don’t look like that, Steve. All Tony said was ‘That’s very interesting’, with a cute grin, so I don’t think he minded.”

“I’m going to catch my flight to Washington,” Steve decided, carefully gathering what was left of his dignity. He did, however, take the magazine.

“OK, ducky. Call us if you need help.” Jan said brightly, though she wasn’t smiling, and her fingers were toying with the fork. “I mean it. I’ll get Hank to dress up in one of those Armors we have in the lab, and we can pretend to terrorize Oregon, and then you’ll have an excuse to leave. Or I can call Tony. I’m sure he’ll think of something.”

“I’ll be fine, Jan.” Steve paused. “And please don’t talk to Tony again.”

“No promises.”

XII.

“Fury.” Steve said, surprised. “I thought you had something to deal with in Chechnya.”

“Fixed itself.” Fury was smoking, a sure sign that he was in a very, very bad mood. Steve had been redirected by waiting SHIELD agents in the John F. Kennedy airport to an unmarked white plane waiting outside its hangar, already being loaded with his battered check-in suitcase. Fury had been slouched on the movable platform stairs with an expression like thunder.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here?” Steve tried. He wasn’t lying. Fury was cantankerous and unpredictable, but Steve was fairly sure that the SHIELD Director liked him, or at least, had a calculated use for him (which probably passed as ‘friends’ in Fury’s book), and up until matters of international security were concerned, Fury was very reliable to his friends.

“You won’t be,” Fury said shortly, tossing the cigarette on the tarmac and stubbing it out with his boot, then added “Save it,” when Steve glanced automatically for the closest rubbish bin. “Here.” A slender, already-opened envelope was thrust at Steve’s chest, and then Fury was stomping up the stairs into the small plane, hands jammed into khaki pants.

Steve turned the envelope over in his hands. Blank, except for SHIELD’s mailing address, in computer-typed font. Frowning, he shifted his duffel bag over his shoulder and followed Fury into the plane, sitting down at random and tucking the bag under his seat, before taking the single page letter out of the envelope and unfolding it.

Five minutes later, Fury sighed. “Breathe, man.”

Steve exhaled explosively. “Have you figured out who sent this?”

“Working on it.” Fury crossed his legs and steepled his fingers before his chin. “I just want to know one thing, Steve.”

“Whether it’s true?” Steve asked flatly. He folded the letter tightly shut with fingers that shook.

“Yeah.”

“Bucky and I… that was a long time ago, when we were only a little more than kids. I met Sharon afterwards. Yeah, it’s true.” Steve swallowed hard, then he grit his teeth. “Where did you get this?”

“It was mailed to the SHIELD office in New York this morning. No prints, no fibres. Whoever did it knew what he was doing.”

Steve glanced back at the typed letter. _We know about Captain America and Bucky Barnes. Drop the case._ “I don’t listen to threats.”

“Let’s take the worst case scenario. We run the case,” Fury glanced out of the window as the plane began to taxi. “If it were anyone but you, I might be able to fix it, if they had compelling evidence and went public. But not only has the Senate failed to repeal DADT, which won’t bear well for your continued military employment, there’s a hell lot of crazies in this town. People who wouldn’t take kindly to you wearing that white star if you’re out of the closet.”

“I thought part of American values was being equal opportunity,” Steve said, though it was a weak quip, and he gripped the armrests tightly. “I won’t listen to their threats. And in any case, DADT is an abuse of civil rights and it shouldn’t continue to-”

“Abuse of rights or not, it’s still standing policy,” Fury growled. “I don’t like it any more than you do, but laws aren’t meant to be decided by you or me. There’s due process for a reason.”

“A majority of Americans are in favor of the repeal.”

“Yeah? A majority of Americans are probably also in favor of four day workdays and no income tax, but you don’t see that happening.” Fury scowled. “A majority of Americans also apparently weren’t arsed enough to make a big turnout on the Washington mall in support of the repeal, or bug the hell out of their senators, or whatever the hell the suits in the White House take as a finger to the political wind, while the crazies are everywhere and louder. Hell, some people don’t even _vote_ because they think it don’t matter, and that adds up. Look, son, I know what you’re getting at, but exposition isn’t helping us right now. When you signed up for that star you’re representing all of America, even the so-called Tea Partiers and the hicks who think that our President was born in Kenya and is a Muslim puppy-eater. We’re going to have to work this out with what we have.”

“Okay. It has to be someone affiliated with the accused.” Steve tried to calm himself down with a deep breath. “I mean, that’s the obvious part.”

“It’s a little more complicated nowadays than stealing and destroying negatives,” Fury groused. “For all you know, they’ve uploaded whatever they have all over the Internet.”

“It’ll have come out sooner or later.” Steve ran his hand over his hair tiredly. “I was just hoping that nothing was gonna trouble me or Bucky until DADT got repealed. I _thought_ it was gonna get repealed this year.”

“Going to be a while,” Fury predicted, as the plane took off with a roar of engines. “Corporations can donate to war chests now, and a lot of them like how the Republicans work. The way the Republicans stand, they’ll probably take the majority in the Senate this year, if not everyone can be arsed to vote or if they watch enough television, or if the Democrats keep quarrelling between themselves and drop the ball. Off the nearest cliff.”

“You’re a Democrat then?”

“No, I hate the whole lot of them. They’re all bloody terrible in their own ways. Sometimes I wish all of them would follow all the balls they’ve dropped off the fucking cliff.” Fury rubbed at his eyes. “But that’s politics. Anyway, we’re off tangent.”

“So what do you want me to do? Give in?” Steve asked, incredulously. “People were _murdered_.”

“Civilians get killed everyday by stray bombs and bullets, son.”

“You can’t make this go away. It was on national news.”

“24 hours news cycle,” Fury retorted. “Give the public a week of nothing and it’ll have clean forgotten about it. If it’ll make you feel any better, I’ll make sure all of them are discharged or demoted. Good compromise?”

“I won’t let them frighten me,” Steve set his jaw stubbornly. “And I don’t care, I’m not going to heed an unjust policy to cover up an injustice. They’ll have to be punished under our rules. Besides, what if the same thing just happens again? If I give in once-”

“What about Major Barnes? You won’t be the only one discharged.”

“I’ll talk to him.” Steve wavered. It wouldn’t be fair on Bucky, but… “I’ll… do you have an encrypted line?”

“Not on his end.” Fury dug around for his phone. “I’ll get someone to pick him up, then he can make the call from the helicarrier.”

“Then in the meantime?” Now that they’d hit a block, the buzz of indignant rage and helpless frustration faded, and Steve just felt exhausted.

“We’ll go on with the opening statements. That’ll go on for a couple of days, and then it’ll be the weekend.” Fury’s lip curled. “Thank the Founding Fathers that justice takes a weekend break, eh?”

“What if they act before that?”

“I’ve got my best people working on it. Could be we’ll sort everything out before it happens.” Fury didn’t sound entirely confident, however. “Besides, I’m sure that they’ll at least give a second warning. I know these sorts. They won’t play their card early.”

“All right.” Steve said dubiously. “Thanks.”

“I don’t like threats either. More than you think.” Fury glared at the passing clouds. “God, I need a smoke.”

XIII.

“I don’t care about myself, Steve,” Bucky said without preamble over the phone once Steve had picked up the call in SHIELD’s Washington headquarters. “If you’re going to do what you have to, to get those poor murdered sods some justice, I don’t care if I’m discharged.”

“That’s good to know,” Steve said, uncomfortably.

“You’re going to go ahead, aren’t you?” Bucky demanded. “You can’t just let people back you into a corner like this. I mean it, Steve. If you want, I can resign today, even. Become a civilian. Then there won’t be anything holding you back.”

“Hold up on that first, Major,” Fury barked. “Goddamnit. If you resign now, there’s only going to be speculation, and fuel for whatever fire the blackmailers decide to set.”

“But-”

“So let’s say we call their bluff and they come out with whatever they have. It’s compelling enough that you and Rogers are discharged. The defendants will have a lot of ammunition for their trial, a lot of public opinion. The case might stall, or the accused might get far lighter sentences.”

“Public opinion works both ways,” Steve pointed out.

“Once we see a gay man, a Muslim or an atheist as President, I’ll talk to you about that,” Fury sneered. “I’m telling you both to hold your bloody horses and let me sort things out. I just got Major Barnes on the line so that we all had an understanding. Not to do anything fucking stupid. Which we do, don’t we?”

“Ten-four,” Bucky said sarcastically, even as Steve muttered, “Yeah.”

“When you’re done chatting, let someone know,” Fury told Steve. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s session is going to be just as bloody long.”

“Where’re you going?” Steve asked, curiously.

“I have other things to do than babysit you, son.” Fury scowled, and slammed the door behind him.

Bucky began to laugh. “Man, he hasn’t changed.”

“You don’t know the worst of it. Also, Tony said that he’s becoming more and more like his father. I think Fury took that as a compliment.”

“ ‘Tony’? Oh, you mean that Stark guy.” Only Bucky could be so dismissive of the most sensational scoop of the month. “Is he really going to stop his company from making those Armors?”

“I don’t like the Armors.”

“I know you don’t. I don’t like land mines either, and we still need them.” Bucky said patiently, then Steve could hear the grin in his voice as Bucky added, “You used to be crazy about the comics. Even when we were walking out. Maybe I should have twigged something.”

“He hasn’t done any adventuring since then. Kind of a let down,” Steve said jokingly, trying to divert Bucky’s keen intuition on matters of Steve’s personal life. “How’s things on your end?”

“I’ve met someone. It was a few months back but we’ve only just decided to take the next step,” Bucky said, a little evasively.

“Congratulations.” Steve smiled. “Anyone I know?”

“I’m not going to tell you about it with all these SHIELD people watching. Non-military. I’ll introduce you when we both have some time. You?”

“No.”

“Still not over Sharon?”

“Not really.” Steve swallowed the instinctive grief. At least the heart attack had been fast. “I’m taking my time.”

“All right. You do that,” Bucky sounded unconvinced. “Listen, I’ve got to go. Call me again if you need to talk to me. Like I said, don’t take me into account in whatever happens. If I have to resign, I will, no problems.”

“Bucky, you’re my age. Hell of a time to be out of a job.”

“Well then, at least we’ll both be out of a job together. Seriously, though, there’re always alternatives for people like you and me,” Bucky pointed out. “Security consultants, weapons engineering consulting, hell, maybe Fury would take us in. I hear SHIELD might soon become UN affiliated rather than just with Homeland Security.”

“They’ll need to come up with another acronym then.” Steve didn’t want to think about leaving the army, not like this. And what would happen with the Avengers? It didn’t really bear considering, not now. “Okay, Bucky. Thanks for calling.”

“Yeah. Keep me updated.”

When Bucky hung up, Steve closed his eyes and sank into the chair. He needed a stiff drink.

-tbc. Using Marvel movieverse’s acronym for SHIELD-

[[Funny or Die on DADT](http://manic-intent.livejournal.com/159963.html#cutid1)] [[Rock the vote](http://www.rockthevote.com/)]


	6. [fic] The Tower of Yesterday [6/?]

XIV.

Sitting through the second day was far worse than the first, given it involved the accused and their versions of what had transpired. Steve stumbled out into the waiting SHIELD car at the end of it feeling like he’d been punched in the stomach. Repeatedly.

“Don’t think too much about it,” Fury had told him, when Steve settled into the car. “Just get home and try to enjoy your weekend.”

“Did you know that was going to happen?” Steve asked tightly.

“It was one of the possibilities.” Fury stayed expressionless, as the window wound up automatically. “Who do you think arranged for the court-martial to be private?”

Steve sat in the car silently as it pulled away, heading towards the Ronald Reagan Washington National airport. He stared at his hands grimly. The accused had all subtly changed their statements, to indicate that they’d all been instructed to take no civilians alive by their superiors. _Steve_ had been in charge of that squad. His word against theirs.

Steve thought that he could, if vaguely, see how the letter and the threat were now coming together, but he wasn’t entirely sure. If he was outed and discharged, perhaps whoever was funding the soldiers thought that it would play a big part on his credibility, enough that he wouldn’t be called as witness, maybe. Steve hadn’t been the one to press charges, seeing as he had given himself up to arrest after landing the men in hospital; in his absence, the staff sergeant Tomlinson had done so.

Or worse – that they thought there was a good chance that it would give some support to their screwball implication that _Steve_ had somehow ordered the murders. The background checks on the three soldiers hadn’t come up with any hint of deep pockets or some sort of financial backer, but SHIELD was still looking into matters.

There was no point in obsessing over it – it wasn’t like that would change anything. Everything was in the hands of the bloody counsels. Steve clenched his fists tightly, and then reached for his phone.

Jan picked up the general Avengers line on the eighth ring, sounding comfortably tipsy. “Hello, ducky. How did things go?”

“Are you busy right now?” Loud metal was playing in the background, and if Steve concentrated, he was pretty sure that he could hear Luke and Peter singing.

“No.” Jan giggled. “It’s Friday, ducky. So we invited some friends over to the Triskelion to have jello shots. Arthur makes an _awesome_ jello shot.”

Wait. “Who’s Arthur?”

“You know, Tony’s personal assistant?” Jan giggled again. “We need to poach someone like him. He can cook. He can make the most _aaaawesome_ jello shots. He also cleans up. I think he probably even irons underwear.”

“What’s Arthur doing there?” Steve asked, even as he abruptly heard Tony’s laughter in the background, rich and warm.

“Because Tony’s here, obviously,” Jan said, unnecessarily. “I think we were going to welcome you back, but then we got into the jello shots a little early. You can still act surprised though.”

“You’re all drunk on _jello shots_?”

“There was all this leftover vodka,” Jan confessed, “Some of it was from ‘Tasha, even, so it was pretty rude to decline a shot or two or five or seven. So how was your day, ducky? I think I might have asked you already.”

“It’s getting better already,” Steve said wryly. “I’ll see all of you at home, if you haven’t all passed out by then.”

“We’ll wait up,” Jan promised, then giggled again. “Peter change the music! Let’s strip into our undies and dance on the tables! You too, ‘Tasha!”

“You’re all going to be arrested by security.”

“It’s OK, ducky, this isn’t the worst thing we’ve been caught doing in the Triskelion by far.” Steve was silent as he thought back, and then Jan added helpfully, “But you weren’t here all those other times, of course.”

Great. Steve rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Just make sure Tony doesn’t get hurt, Jan. I’ll be there soon.”

The private SHIELD plane, in Steve’s opinion, couldn’t fly anywhere fast enough. But thankfully, insistent thoughts of all the damage that the Avengers and Tony could have gotten into in his absence kept him from thinking back again over the day. Kept the sick, cold fury he had felt like a rock in his gut during the hearing out of his mind.

XV.

Thankfully, Steve was not in fact greeted by a bunch of drunken Avengers in varying stages of undress when he reached the rec room. The room did, however, smell of disinfectant and soap, and Arthur was standing by the kitchen counter, impeccable sleeves rolled to his elbows, scrubbing it industriously.

Steve glanced at the ornate bronze clock affixed onto one of the support pillars, a gift from (the current) Namor. 3:00am. Other than a few suspicious stains on the carpeting and a slip of something bright pink and lacy that Steve did not want to know about, tucked badly behind the LCD widescreen tv, the room actually seemed… normal.

Tony was lounging at the dining table, slouched in one of the leather seats with his legs crossed on the table, a white t-shirt stretched over the heart bubble, a laptop on gray denim-clad thighs, and he smiled lazily and looked up when Steve walked closer. “Captain. You look beat. And you missed the party.”

“I gathered.” Steve sat down opposite Tony, even as the other man looked over at Arthur, who instantly began to wipe his hands on the kitchen towel and make coffee. Unnerved by the concept of personal servants, Steve watched as Arthur measured out coffee, and wondered whether he should go over and help.

“Ease up,” Tony suggested, reading his mind. “He gets upset.”

“Okay.” It was too late (or too early) to be arguing over trite matters, anyway. “I hope nobody did anything too crazy.”

Tony grinned. “You have a great team, Captain. They’re all pretty young, though, got sauced quite fast, even the Russian. Are you the oldest?”

“Thor’s the oldest. I guess you haven’t met him, I think he’s still in Brazil. He’s an Asgardian God, so he’s definitely the oldest.”

“Really.” Tony arched an eyebrow. “I think I took some Asgardian things, here and there.”

“Yeah, he knows. But nothing that you took belonged to him, so he doesn’t care. He’s more of a one man, one hammer sort of guy nowadays.”

“Mjolnir. Of course.”

“And then there’s Clint, he and Natasha are part time though, they’re SHIELD… I don’t know how old Bruce is, but he’s more support than an actual Avenger, Luke’s thirty-six, and I’m next, I guess. Twenty-nine,” Steve said self-consciously, when Tony looked speculative.

“ _Twenty-nine_? Good God. You’re far younger than you look. And you’re all bloody spring chickens.” Something of Tony’s playfulness seemed to change, becoming more distant, as coffee was served and Tony’s eyes flicked back to his laptop.

“I read the article.” Steve said awkwardly, into the silence. “Vanity Fair.”

“Liked it? The photographer was a personal friend of Pepper’s. Lovely lady, that Annie, a real pistol.”

“Yeah. Great photographs.” Steve managed to fight a blush. The inevitable shirtless photograph to show the heart bubble had also shown off a lean physique, scarred, but Tony was in great shape for a man pushing his mid forties. “She’s famous.”

“I gathered. We should get her to do some of you and your team. It’ll be good publicity.”

“Are you really going to set up another company?” Steve asked, wondering what he had said wrong. Tony had grown warmer to him over time, Steve was sure of it, but now he could sense the polite distance again, and it was unnerving. Nearly upsetting, even.

Maybe the man was just tired. That was probably it.

“I have a bit of start up capital from interested parties. Obadiah made a few good points. Even though I think I know what he was getting at. I need to be able to be in a position to absorb the fallout when I move against Armor production. That means I need to be doing something that’s creating employment. If I stick around in Stark Industries, I’ll be put on a very tight leash.”

Steve tried very hard not to imagine Tony and leashes in the same context. “So what are you going to call the new company?”

“I’m taking suggestions.” Tony pulled a face. “Apparently I shouldn’t try to use my own name, even though I’m technically allowed to under trade mark law. But that’s enough about me. How did your case go?”

Steve hesitated long enough that Tony even looked up from his laptop with an expression of concern, and that was enough for him to spill everything that had transpired over the past couple of days, starting from the letter. There was a long silence at the end of it, broken only by Arthur’s attempts to scrub out the grease trap above the cooking vent. Tony stared at him, unreadable, then glanced back down at his laptop, his shoulders hunched with tension.

Steve silently berated himself. He should have known better than to think that a transplanted man from the past would have an updated set of moral opinions. Especially when a good portion of modern people didn’t share the opinion that gay people were anything more than unnatural or second-class. It took a couple of attempts to force a smile. “Thanks for listening. I guess it’s getting late.”

“I take back what I said,” Tony said quietly. “I wake up in the future and the world’s just as screwball as it used to be.”

“Not all of it.” Steve said, almost choking up from the relief.

“Hey, Captain. Ease up,” Tony looked alarmed. “You should get some rest. I wish I knew how to help you,” he added, almost wistful. From the sink, Arthur politely cleared his throat. Tony cracked a thin smile. “Oh, I guess Arthur could look into it.”

“No, you’ve got a full plate. I can handle it.”

“All right.” Tony said, with a glance over at Arthur, whose sleeves were already impeccably back in place. “I guess I’ll better get going. I’ll be back in the morning.”

“Really?” Steve blurted out, then added quickly, “Oh, you mean about the Armors we have on store.”

“Really really,” Tony teased. “And yes, the Armors. I have a theory I want to test out.”

“We could catch lunch. There’s a great place just off the pier.”

Tony hesitated, the distant expression returning, but when Steve kept up his hopeful look, he visibly caved. “All right. Lunch sounds good. See you tomorrow, Captain.”

“ ‘Night,” Steve said, trying and probably failing to sound blasé. He probably was reading too much into Tony apparently waiting up for him, but it felt like progress.

The weekend was looking up.

XVI.

“ _Steeeve._ ”

Steve looked up blearily into Peter’s face, too close for comfort. The young journalist-university student-superhero stopped shaking him by the shoulder instantly, grinning from ear to ear. “C’mon, wake up, rise and shine.”

“How did you get into my room?”

“You left the window open,” Peter said, unashamed.

“Why don’t you have a hangover?”

“Special metabolism. Also, Thor taught us this special Asgardian hangover cure the last time. Apparently there are a lot of liquor parties in Valhalla.” Peter flipped backwards into a crouch on his desk. “C’mon, wake up. Tony’s about to do some sort of demonstration.”

“Demonstration?” Steve sat up, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon, sir!”

“You’re too bloody perky.” Steve groaned, eyeing his bed longingly.

“I had a double dose of the hangover cure, sir!” Peter paused. “Jan said I was driving her crazy, so she sent me to get you. C’mon! I want to go back to watch him face off against an Armor.”

“He’s going to _what_?”

Getting dressed and running to the basement training rooms was done in record time. Once the door accepted his retinal scan and slid open, Steve’s heart jumped into his mouth. Tony was crouched in the center of the basement room, and only a few metres away, a Suppression Armor MK 4 was raising its gunner arm. Arthur was nowhere to be seen.

Steve was moving before he could think things through, but someone barreled quickly into him just as he was halfway to the armor. Growling, he rolled instantly with the impact, raising his fist, then freezing quickly as he recognized Natasha. Expressionless, she picked herself gracefully to her feet, then jerked her head at Tony and the Armor.

The Armor had taken a step back, and was removing its helmet to reveal Luke’s sheepish expression. “Hey, er, good morning, Steve.”

“Oh. Hi Luke.” Steve said awkwardly, getting to his feet. “Sorry. I thought-”

“No harm done. Tony wanted to show us something, that’s all, and I’ve got invulnerable skin, in case something goes wrong. So he and Hank stuffed me into this tin box that they put together this morning out of the spare parts that we had.” Luke glared past Steve’s shoulder at Peter. “Which Peter should have said.”

“He was running too fast,” Peter said, with a tone of studied innocence, but he climbed quickly up the wall and out of reach.

On closer inspection, the familiar dent on the chassis of the Armor from the edge of his shield when Steve had taken down the Armor was obvious – it had only been patched up just enough such that Luke wouldn’t feel any discomfort within it. “Uh… carry on, then.”

“You know,” Luke said, as he put the helmet back onto his head, his voice becoming modulated from the Armor systems, “This is actually really cool.”

“I’ve got a little something that could revise your opinion of it, give or take a month,” Tony grinned, with a nod at Steve. “Okay, let’s try that again. Gunner at the ready.”

Obligingly, Armor-Luke raised the gunner arm, and even though Steve knew that Luke would rather get shot at himself before he hurt any civilian, he tensed. Tony had a slim black device in his hand, around the same size as an iPod, and he was thumbing something on the screen.

“And then?”

“Take a shot.”

“This thing isn’t loaded.”

“I loaded it when Hank wasn’t looking.”

Luke froze up. “Ok, I’m not going to move until you take the bullets out.”

“You won’t clip me with that.”

“Sure, it’ll spray your brains all over the back wall instead. I’ve seen what these things can do.” Luke was lowering his arm, and Tony huffed irritably.

“All right then. It’ll be less dramatic, but… shoot at another part of the room then.”

“Ok.” Luke pointed the gunner arm at a blank wall, and the shell spiels began to whir in an all too familiar metallic hum that Steve had learned to hate. Before the staccato drumming of the bullet rain occurred, however, there was a squeal of tortured metal, then a pneumatic hiss, and the whirring stopped. “Hey!”

“What’s the onboard system telling you?” Tony asked, grinning broadly.

“Offensive systems offline. Internal security override, designation: TStark.” Luke was pulling off his helmet again, his expression a mix of sour amusement and surprise. “You didn’t have to bloody sign your name on your virus.”

“All they did was make my Armor designs faster, lighter and deadlier,” Tony said, with vicious triumph. “They didn’t think to change the onboard, or the connects, or the power sequences, other than adding better and better onboard fuel cells. The basic design with all the flaws that I were trying to fix, they’re all still there. And the onboard still knows me. All of the onboards.”

“That’s an iTouch,” Jan had trotted up to Tony.

Tony looked slightly embarrassed. “It’ll have taken too long to build something from scratch. I wanted something small, portable and unassuming, with a wifi chip.”

“And you learned all this in a _month_?” Jan asked, as incredulous as Steve felt.

“I had a lot of help from Reed,” Tony admitted. “He was the one who fixed up the iTouch. I’m not that confident with microchips yet. I’ve got two of these for your team, and I’ve promised to give one to Fury. Besides, it’s not like I’m learning from scratch. The basic Armor that I built, it’s still there in all these copies. These are just surface improvements.”

Peter and Jan looked dubiously at the sleek black Armor-Luke, then back at Tony. “Pretty big surface improvements,” Peter said, though he hopped down from the wall. “Can I do the scoop on this? Please? Please don’t tell me you’ve told Fury to keep it secret. I’ve already thought of the perfect headline.”

“Sorry,” Tony raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender. “He told me to keep it secret for now. But you can raise it with him.”

Peter pulled a face. “I can see how that will go. No thanks.”

“You should take your name off the override,” Steve finally recovered his voice from his astonishment. “It’s not safe.”

“All right, all right,” Tony said, a little sulkily, tabbing something on the iTouch that he handed to Jan, then another that he walked over to pass to Steve, and a third one, which he passed to Natasha. “There.”

“You’re amazing,” Steve told him warmly. “This would be a great help.”

“It’s temporary.” Tony looked away, as though embarrassed. “They’ll figure out my security override sooner or later. But I have some other ideas.”

Steve could see Jan and Peter gesturing behind Tony’s back and mouthing ‘go for lunch!’ while Luke and Natasha were trudging towards the exit to get the Armor removed safely in the lab. Tony automatically turned to follow them, though he paused when Steve tapped his shoulder. “About lunch…?”

“Oh. Oh, that.” Tony said vaguely, with the tone of a man with whom food tended to be optional fuel when there were interesting gadgets in the vicinity. “Now?”

“Yeah.”

“Mm.” Tony looked longingly after the Armor, then back up at Steve. “All right then.” Behind Tony, Jan and Peter mock high-fived. Steve fought the urge to roll his eyes at his friends. “To that place you mentioned?”

“Yeah.”

“What about the others?” Tony turned to Jan and Peter, who shook their heads vigorously.

“I, uh, I’m meeting my girlfriend,” Peter said quickly.

“I’m going out with Hank.”

“Where’s Arthur?” Steve asked, conscientiously, ignoring how Jan facepalmed as Tony looked back at him.

Tony looked evasive. “He’s checking something for me elsewhere. Lead the way, Captain.”

-tbc... minor amendments to the meme's version, as usual.


	7. [fic] The Tower of Yesterday [7/?]

XVII.

Tony had looked around the diner with a critical eye, until Steve was about to suggest that they go someplace else; then he ignored the waiter attempting to show them to a seat by the window with a view of the harbor, marching around the sticky off-white counter instead to a corkboard tacked full of photographs, some yellowing with age.

“See that,” Tony pointed, when Steve caught up with him – a black and white Polaroid, showing Tony, Rhodey, Pepper and the current chef’s grandfather, standing against the counter and grinning. “I remember this place.”

Steve had forgotten the original reason why he’d liked to come here, when he was a kid. It certainly hadn’t been the décor, which had refused to change throughout the years, down to the chipped old plates and the cloudy glasses, the sullen old jukebox in the corner that only worked when it felt like it, or the constant, warm scent layers of oil and fish and coffee. “They do a great fish and chips.”

“At least some things didn’t change at all.” Tony said wryly, even as the chef burst out of the kitchen, trailing a kitchenhand fiddling with a digital camera. “Good lord. Tommy, you’ve grown the hell up.”

“Meester Stark! I saw on the news-” the chef began, embarrassingly enough even bursting into tears, and it was a good fifteen minutes and several consolation photographs afterwards before they sat down and gave their orders.

“Used to sit here sometimes with the rest,” Tony said, crossing his long legs under the red-checkered tablecloth and looking out over the harbor. “Someplace quiet where the board wouldn’t know where to find me, compare crib notes, look over a map and plan our next adventure. Good times.”

“I heard a rumor about that.”

“Yeah. It was one of the few places around here that didn’t care whether you were black or white or yellow or purple so long as you were well-behaved and paid up when you went. Rhodey liked it.” Tony’s fingers tightened briefly over his elbows, then he sighed and watched the waiter pour them both a glass of white wine. “Had a good rest?”

“Up until Peter woke me up by jumping up and down on me.”

“Does that often, does he?”

“Not really, thank God. I usually wake up earlier than he does. Habit.”

“The Army,” Tony nodded. “Do you go on combat missions often?”

“Usually, unless something’s happening here, I’d be away every couple of months. I don’t expect anything less. I signed up for the Army, after all, after September 11.” Steve paused, but when Tony didn’t ask, he added, “The Avengers thing isn’t really the mainstay, just something that Fury decided to come up with last year, sort of like a mobile response team to supplement local police.”

“Apparently you drank a Super Soldier serum?”

“You wouldn’t have recognized me from before.” Steve said wryly. “I was a skinny kid with a strain of hyperthyroidism that couldn’t be treated properly. They wouldn’t take me for the Army, so I signed up for SHIELD. Volunteered for the program, and here I am.”

“And everyone else who volunteered with you?”

Tony was sharp. Steve was pretty sure that those files were still classified, so he hedged, “Can’t say for sure.” He was aware that at least one of the test subjects was still alive – if in a coma, hidden away in the helicarrier. Fury wouldn’t let Steve know his name, so Steve had privately named the subject ‘Rip’, after the character who’d fallen asleep and woken up into another time, and occasionally sat up in the room to read.

“You must have been one crazy kid.”

“My best friend had signed up for the Army at the same time as me, and he got accepted – Bucky,” Steve elaborated. “I wanted to follow him like nothing else. I got my wish.”

“And was it all that it was cut out to be?” The food arrived, with more effusions of enthusiasm from the chef, and it took another ten minutes for Steve and Tony to talk Tommy back into the kitchen.

“Yes and no.” The fish and chips were perfect, as usual, crisp and crunchy. “Afghanistan is… well, it’s complicated. Some days down there, it feels like all these years haven’t been worth a damn. The Armors can’t help that much; a lot of Afghanistan’s terrain is plain impossible; anti-tank mines still take out the Armors, easy. There’s still villages we can’t go into, villages that were ours but which we can lose within a day… the government’s still stuffed, a lot of the places don’t have electricity…” Steve trailed off. “Let me know if I’m boring you.”

“No. No, you’re not.” Tony said encouragingly. “What about Iraq?”

“We’re pulling out of Iraq. Best decision in a long time. Fury thought we shouldn’t have even gone there. I’m not sure if I agree, but we haven’t been doing that much good with the combat mission, not when the money’s needed back home to fix our own problems. Healthcare. Education,” Steve pointed out, at Tony’s arched eyebrow. “We have a crazy deficit. If we fixed everything at home, I don’t mind going back, if the elections don’t work out.”

“Who buys our treasury bonds nowadays?”

“China.”

“We let commies buy US Government treasury bonds?” Tony asked, astounded enough that a chip stopped en-route towards his mouth. “Well, did I _ever_. The world bloody turns.”

“It’s not so black and white now,” Steve said, hiding a smile.

“Yeah. Apparently, I get to see the President tomorrow. Fury called me this morning on what he called an ‘FYI’ basis.”

“He’s a nice guy. Great kids. Cute dog.” Steve had been to the White House a handful of times, twice to meet the current President’s predecessor, and the rest with the current one, who read comics and played basketball and tended to be more fun, when he wasn’t being harangued by his Chief of Staff. Also, the kids were a big fan of Thor. “I liked him more than the previous guy, anyway. But you’ve met FDR.”

“I have. He was trying to persuade me to mass-produce my Armors to assist in the war efforts. We had strong words, and I was never invited back again, even after I took out Zemo and all those Nazi zeppelins.” Tony smiled wryly. “Let’s hope history doesn’t repeat itself.”

“It probably will.” The current President had struck Steve as a reasonable man, but he was still a war President. “Want me to come with you?”

“No. I have prior experience at handling Presidents, like I said. Can’t be worse than the last time.” Tony had an amazing way of drinking wine. He tended to _lick the rim_ , and his tongue was pink. Steve tried to concentrate on the food, but the diner was growing hot. “What do your parents do?”

“I’m an orphan.” Steve said, pausing only a second over the fries. “Dad passed away when I was really young. Mom went into Ground Zero as a firefighter. Never came out again.” The next week, he’d tried to sign up for the Army.

Tony regarded him soberly, and for a moment, Steve was afraid that he’d have to deal with the usual platitudes. Sarah Rogers had been a strong woman with no use for ‘softer words’, and some things had bled through into her son. She’d passed on over trying to save people she didn’t know, a far better death than his alcoholic father and his failing liver. “And so you signed up.”

“Yeah. Or tried to, anyway, like I said.”

“Going to war won’t give you any closure.”

“That’s not why I went to war. Well, not any longer,” Steve amended, at Tony’s skeptical smile. “You have to see Afghanistan to understand. Every village we help, every bit of infrastructure that we build. We have to do something for them. That’s what war is for, to change things for the better, for the people with no voices. If I could, I want to help more places. The Congo, Somalia.”

“I think it’s an-”

“-unforgivable waste of life,” Steve finished, with a quick grin. “And an equally unforgivable waste of resources.”

“Pepper likes to write me word for word.” Tony inclined his head. “Well then, we’ll have to agree to disagree, Captain. But you’ll win your wars faster with a battalion of Armors.”

“You’ll be surprised. The Armors aren’t invulnerable – as you’re aware. And nothing creates terrorist converts faster than the sight of an Armor going through a village with the SmartTek embeds, or the ammo spiels at full, ripping through everything in their path, including any women or kids hiding inside houses or just around corners. It makes villages fear us. That’s not progress.”

“But without the Armors?”

“We’ll lose ground,” Steve conceded. “But I want to believe it’ll be better for the long run. Still, it isn’t up to me to decide. You might want to bring it up with the Commander-in-chief tomorrow.”

“I think we’re going to have strong words,” Tony said, though not without a note of anticipatory glee.

“Maybe. He’s very interested in clean energy. You could try to get some government contracts.”

They discussed Tony’s plans for clean energy for the rest of lunch – apparently involving some sort of prototype concept called an ‘arc reactor’, inspired by the electrical trident that Tony had found deep in the sea, on his first adventure with Pepper, and then Steve grabbed unsuccessfully for the bill, which, as it turned out, was on the house anyway, or at least paid in memories and promises from Tony to come back with Pepper and Bert.

Walking back towards the pier in the warm sunshine, comfortably full, Steve asked, “Are you going to be here the whole day?”

“Probably. We’re going to run a few more tests on the Armors, then I want to pick apart a few of them, get a good gander at the frameworks and the alloy.”

“You’re building an Armor of your own, are you?” Steve recalled Fury’s words.

“And if I am?” Tony’s expression was unreadable again.

“Fury’s told me to advise that you’ll have a place in the Avengers, if you do. It was probably not a request,” Steve added sheepishly. “He said you’d need someone to keep an eye on you, should you intend to get shot at by modern weaponry.”

“I’ll talk to him.” Tony said, frowning. “I’m not interested in working with a large team. No offense, Captain. I like your friends, but it was never how I liked it.”

“Talk to Fury.” Fury was very good at being persuasive. Or intimidating. “Why are you building one? I thought you wanted to stop production.”

“You probably think I’m a hypocrite.”

“No! No, I don’t. The Armor was yours in the first place, and-”

“And why would I object to the use of them when I use them myself, when I’ve killed people with my Armor before?”

“They were Nazis.” Steve paused, thinking back over the comics. “Also, bandits and pirates. And one group of weird cannibals. Self defense.”

“Self defense and ‘weird’ cannibals aside,” Tony said, as they got onto the military ferry that would take them back to the Triskelion, “I know what it’s like to kill people inside one of those suits. It’s too easy. It used to scare me. ”

“It should.”

“We need to find out who’s making – or using – the rogue Armors. And if I want to do something about it, I’ll need an Armor. Don’t argue with me, Captain. The Armors _are_ my responsibility.”

“All right.” Steve conceded, as the ferry pulled away from the pier, bobbing on the waves. Tony leaned back against the rail, looking up at circling seagulls, and Steve propped his elbows on the rail beside him. “If you’re going to be here all day, would you like to get dinner as well?”

“I’m meeting Pepper.” Tony said quickly, and glanced away when Steve looked disappointed. “You probably should pay more attention to your girlfriend, rather than let SHIELD assign you on babysitting in your spare time.”

“What girlfriend?” Steve asked, surprised.

“Don’t you have one?” Tony looked equally surprised.

“… no?”

“A boyfriend, then,” Tony amended, as an afterthought.

“No.”

“Really now. The whole damn world around you must be blind,” Tony muttered the last line low enough under his breath for it to be stolen by the stiff breeze – if Steve didn’t have enhanced hearing from the serum.

That couldn’t be… “I haven’t seen Pepper for a while,” Steve ventured hopefully, and tried his best smile.

Tony actually _squirmed_ , his eyes darting everywhere, then he exhaled, defeated. “I can probably change the reservation to three people.”

Something seemed to wrap tight and warm in Steve’s chest, revelation intoxicating and heady. “Great.”

XVIII.

Pepper was friendly on the first night, though her expression turned speculative whenever Tony wasn’t looking. On the second dinner, however, when Tony had wandered off to find a bathroom, with fingers delicately clasped around a martini, she drawled, “I didn’t think Tony liked soldiers.”

“It’s the uniform.” Steve retreated carefully behind dowdy humor. “Have you been meeting him for dinner all this time?”

“Whenever our schedules allow,” Pepper’s lips curled around an olive in faded pink, before eating it thoughtfully. “Do I hear jealousy, Captain?”

“’Course,” Steve said, smiling, “I’m hurt you didn’t decide to go out with me instead, all this while.”

“Not bad,” Pepper chuckled. “But I’m ‘fraid you’re a little too young for me, spring chicken.”

Steve grinned. “Now ain’t that a shame, Miss Potts. Tony said that about us – me and my team.”

“Sure he did.” Pepper set her martini down as dessert arrived, crème brulee and profiteroles. “Prior to a couple of days back, he was all ‘Steve this’, and ‘Captain that’, and then it was all ‘I can’t believe he’s only twenty-nine’.” When Steve blinked a little blankly at her, she shook her head, slowly. “Discounting being frozen in the ice, you’re fifteen years younger than Tony, Captain. It just ain’t done.”

“That’s… but that’s not… _I_ don’t mind,” Steve said, a little hotly, then took a deep breath. “I don’t.”

“I know.” Pepper cracked the crème brulee with a decisive tap of her teaspoon. “It’s pretty damn obvious.”

Steve stared silently past Pepper’s shoulder in the direction where Tony had gone. “You really mind too?”

“Captain, I think you misunderstand me.” Pepper said, with an archly sly smile, scored by the confidence of two marriages, “If I could drop fifty years off my back, I reckon I’ll steal you quick before Tony even realizes what he’s missing.”

Steve let out a startled laugh, then he grinned, his good humor restored. “Fifty years ago you couldn’t have been born yet, Miss Potts. You don’t look a day over forty.”

“Tony’s a bad influence on you, Steve.” Pepper informed him tartly, though her smile lingered. “Damned shame. And you were such a nice boy. I hear they don’t mint nice boys no more.”

“They don’t?” Tony asked, as he sat back down and speared a profiterole with his fork. “Nobody told me.”

“Sure, seeing as you’re busy ruining all the few that I find.”

“Since when did you keep count?”

“I’m your chronicler, Tony, your Boswell. I think it’s my responsibility to do your write-ups with an objective eye.”

“I see that’s what they call defamation nowadays. What brought on this particular little flutter?”

“The Captain was going to ask me out,” Pepper said, with an air of melodrama, brushing one wrinkled palm across her brow. “But I told him I was too old for kisses in doorways, bad poetry, half-remembered phone calls, slow walks down the beach and ill-advised fumbles in the dark.”

“You used to swear up a storm on beaches. Sand would get into your shoes and stockings and you hated it.”

“You don’t have a romantic bone within you, Mister Stark,” Pepper pretended to huff. “This is why I’ve only slept with you twice.”

Steve choked on his beer, and had to be thumped on the back. “If I recall,” Tony said dryly, pulling back, “The first time was pity, and the second involved drunken feminine condescension.”

“A _gentleman_ wouldn’t kiss and tell,” Pepper informed him primly, though she only seemed amused.

“Good thing Churchill told me I didn’t qualify, then.”

“Name dropping is so terribly juvenile, Mister Stark. Besides, Steve is already very impressed with your awful habits, so there’s no need to puff yourself up any further. Honestly, Tony, I’ve seen you chase the skirts of dolls half your age. You sure are taking your time on this one.”

“He isn’t…” Tony coughed, then growled, when Pepper smirked, “The _Captain_ would not… _I’m_ not…”

“I win this round, I think.” Pepper said decisively, as Tony glowered at her and Steve ate a profiterole to hide his grin. He’ll try his luck tonight.

XIX.

“Aren’t you already in trouble?” Tony asked, already breathless as they somehow made it out of the lift, Steve’s fingers tangled in the knot of his tie and their bodies flush against each other. The second kiss was less stiff and awkward, slanting up against Tony’s mouth until his lips parted; Steve’s first taste of smoke and whisky. He made a mental note to make sure Tony quit smoking, as he somehow managed to move them both onto the couch.

“In trouble why?” Steve asked, deserted by grammar, as Tony rolled him onto the bottom with an ease of what was probably practice, soused as he was. Fingers curled into the creasing, khaki collar of his Army shirt and dragged him up into a crushing kiss, ignoring Steve’s hands as they clutched at his shoulders, then stroked down to his waist.

“Army. Hearing. Bucky Barnes?” At least he wasn’t the only one. Tony seemed to be counting keywords in his mind, his eyes dark and dazed.

“This is just going to be between us both,” Steve said, before his brain managed to censor what he was saying, and had to quickly sit up and slide his hands firmly onto Tony’s hips when Tony sat up, his lazy smile disappearing. “I didn’t mean it like that, Tony, I-”

“I wasn’t angry at _you_ , knucklehead,” Tony snapped, though he allowed Steve to pull him close. “God. It kills me that I wake up sixty years into the future and they’re all still playing the same old song.”

“Things change. It’s changing.”

“You believe that?”

“I have to believe that. C’mon.” Steve kissed Tony’s foreheads, then his eyes, pressed down to his mouth and had to lick into it for chapped lips to curl back upwards.

“I’m going to hell,” Tony murmured, when the kisses deepened enough to turn sloppy, when Steve pushed up with a desperate sound, too long since the last and starved. “Eventually, anyway. Good thing I’m hellishly exhausted, it’s far too early in the morning, and I’m on very, very good terms with Johnny Walker at the moment.” At Steve’s blank expression, Tony rubbed at his eyes and cant his hips forward. There was a noticeable lack of… oh. Oh. “Don’t bruise an old geezer’s ego by trying anyway, Steve.”

“I can wait.” Steve said, managing to keep disappointment from his tone, instead pulling Tony down on top of him. He grit his teeth as a thigh edged up against his tenting pants, then Tony managed to settle down. “Should we move someplace else?”

“Probably.” Tony didn’t move.

“Arthur’s not around.”

“Tough. Means you’re duty bound to stay here and make sure I don’t get kidnapped by rogue capitalist elements.”

“Bless the free market.”

“Says you, young man. I had a very good reason for not doing this, I’ll have you know. I just can’t remember it right now.”

“Mmhmm.” Steve chanced another kiss, and Tony even _purred_ , if sleepily.

“I’m going to regret this in the morning.”

“Maybe.” Steve stroked his left hand up through Tony’s hair, carded the fine strands gently through his thumb and forefinger. Tony batted feebly at his hand, his cheek snug against Steve’s shoulder, mumbling something incoherent and irritable, but a few minutes later he was out like a light, and then there was a light snore.

Carefully, biting back a smile, Steve shifted into as comfortable a position as he could get, closing his eyes and breathing deep. This was going to be hell on his neck and back tomorrow.

-tbc: Steve is an orphan in canon, iirc. Alcoholic father died when he was a kid, unknown mom died of pneumonia when he was in high school. I swear I’m not doing this on purpose. D: How did this fill get so long winded? Everything else I did was short.-


	8. [fic] The Tower of Yesterday [8/?]

XX.

Steve managed to ignore the first couple of times his phone had gone off, but on the third, Tony unstuck his cheek from Steve’s shoulders, muttered something about ‘rat fucking early morning bastards’ under his breath, and climbed heavily off Steve, all knees and sharp elbows, rubbing his eyes and making an unsteady beeline for the bathroom.

Sitting up and wincing at the cricks and aches on his neck and spine, Steve dug the phone out from the back pocket of his pants. “Steve Rogers.”

“What the flying _fuck_ are you doing, soldier?” Fury barked.

Hastily, Steve looked at the time on his phone. 719am. _Hell_. “I uh, must have slept through my alarm. I’ll catch a cab to the airport right away-”

“Goddamn weren’t you _listening_ to me at all on Friday? You don’t need to go to Washington today, you’re not going to be called as a witness yet.”

“But the lawyers-”

“They’re not _your_ lawyers, Steve, we’ve been through this,” Fury said flatly, “They’re trial counsel. They’re calling other witnesses to the dock today. I told you to meet me at the helicarrier at _seven_.”

“Give me forty minutes, I’ll get to the Triskelion and into a helicopter. Actually,” Steve corrected, as he saw Tony stumble out of the bathroom, still rubbing his eyes, dress shirt rumpled and fully unbuttoned, “Can I have a couple of hours?”

“You can have fucking thirty minutes.” Fury snarled. “Why the hell do you need a couple of hours? Where are you?” There was a brief pause, and then Fury added, with a grudging note of concern, “Are you OK, son? I didn’t get any alert from the Triskelion-”

“Mornin’,” Tony murmured thickly into his ear, husky from sleep, and curled back up on the couch.

There was a dead silence from the phone, then a deep breath, as though Fury was carefully dredging through the least polite aspects of his vocabulary. Quickly, Steve said, “I’ll see you in an hour, Director, bye.”

“ _ROGERS-_ ”

Steve quickly cut the call off and tucked his cell into a pocket. Fury would live up to his namesake later, most likely, but Steve didn’t want to listen to a lecture right now. Instead, he leaned over Tony, nuzzling at the bared neck until fingers pressed up in weak protest on his shoulders.

“I have to go,” Steve whispered, and stole a quick kiss when Tony rolled onto his back, his eyes unfocused. “Can you sleep upstairs? Until Arthur gets back.”

“You can’t make me.” Tony murmured, already dozing.

“I could carry you.”

“Don’t you dare, I’ll throw my back.”

“You’re not _that_ old.”

“I used to go drinking with Frank Sinatra.”

“You’re name-dropping. I’ll tell Pepper.” Steve managed to pick Tony up despite the flailing, mumbled swearing and the indignant scowl, carrying him towards the bedroom and all but pouring him onto the sheets. “And you’re still drunk.”

“Mm. Says you.” Tony curled up again. “Leave me alone, go and play with Fury.”

“You can’t make me.” Steve returned dryly, settling between Tony’s long legs and palming him experimentally through his beautifully tailored pants.

Tony shuddered, with a low sound that made Steve pause, and then he pushed encouragingly up into his grip. “Go ahead, take advantage of me while I’m comatose.”

“So you’ll have some company in hell?” Steve squeezed carefully, always wary of his strength, and grinned when Tony sucked in a quick breath and bucked into the pressure. He balanced his weight on his free hand to brush his lips over Tony’s neck, working slowly with nips and licks to his shoulders, taking in the scent of his skin, whisky and smoke and metal.

Tony’s laugh was wet and breathless when Steve worked his way down, to the heart bubble, pressing a smudging kiss against the glass. “I must say, Captain, the future is agreeing with me.”

“Oh?”

“I think I’ve had at least two people proposition me, some of them graphically, during any of the glitterati parties that I attended.” Tony eyed him thoughtfully, still blinking away the last of his sleep. “And then… actually, I’m not entirely too sure how this happened.”

“Too fast?”

“Pepper told me this was how it runs, now.” Tony said skeptically.

“Not… exactly.”

“I knew she was having me on. Then?”

Steve took a deep breath. He had faced down gunner fire from rogue Armors, dinosaurs from the Savage Lands, and guerilla attacks in dust-scoured ruins, and it still took him a minute to screw up enough courage. “Remember what Jan told you at that moving pictures party?”

“Ah.” Tony’s playful expression turned sober, then he tilted his head up, to stare at the ceiling. “I think I just remembered why we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“The fifteen-year age gap?” Steve said, his tone edged, shifting up such that he could feel the hard curve of Tony’s cock against his abdomen, pinning Tony to the bed carefully with his bigger frame.

“Kind of. Not exactly in the way that you imagine.” Tony didn’t move when Steve kissed down the stubble along his jaw to his neck. “You’re after the Tony Stark in Marvels, Steve. I’m not always that person. Usually not, I should add. My publisher just thought that all the comics would sell better if he edited out most of my actual personality. Maybe you’re not old enough to know or want the difference. I’ve… met people like that.”

“I’m not exactly a child, Tony,” Steve said patiently, trying not to think to deeply into what the little pause meant. “And give or take a few days, I’ve known you for a month.”

“Yes. A month.” Tony squinted at him in the dim light reflected from the city around them. “You’ve known me for only a month.”

“Can’t blame a man for trying to get in before the competition?” Steve suggested, but Tony didn’t even smile, thin-lipped and silent. Wryly, he added, “There’s usually no formula for this sort of thing, Tony. You say I don’t know what you’re really like – well, I’m happy to stay and find out. That’s how this used to work too, didn’t it?”

“Don’t suggest that to Reed, he’ll be typing up a date/time relationship algorithm before you know it.” Tony said, uncertainty still writ large in his eyes and the set to his jaw.

Steve tried a kiss, slipping in his tongue when Tony grudgingly parted his lips, taking his time until he felt the tension curl out of Tony’s shoulders, long fingers sifting up through his short-cropped hair. Tony was a far better kisser now that he had a little more cognitive function, Steve noted, all expert pressures and toe-curling sucks; _he_ felt a little inadequate. Steve moaned, rubbing his arousal hopefully between Tony’s thighs, felt a rumbling chuckle under him as fingers trailed down his neck to his arms.

“Steady there, soldier,” Tony chuckled. “This is going to want more than fifteen minutes, I hope.” At Steve’s blank look, he pointed at the bedside clock. “It’ll take you at least twenty minutes to get to the Triskelion. And that’s assuming you take a helicopter, given the traffic. And then I’m thinking that you’ll want to change and get a shower.”

Steve considered chancing Fury’s temper, and wasn’t so sure. Fury could hold a grudge better than an old fishwife – he probably had a tally book somewhere, with the names of kids who’d stolen alphabet blocks from him in nursery school, even; but then, he wasn’t sure if he could leave Tony like this. “What about later? You won’t change your mind?”

“I’m old enough know a good thing when it’s lying on me?” Tony suggested, his dark eyes half-lidded now, the thin line on his lips back to its lazy curl. “You’re the one who’ll regret this, Captain.”

“Really now.” Steve nipped Tony’s lower lip, grinned when he purred, deep and liquid.

“Oh yes. I’ll steal your socks, hoard the sheets, keep the most ungodly hours, drink and smoke and gamble. You’ll get bored of me within a week, but I know all the dirty little tricks that’ll guilt you into staying on until I’ve bled you dry, poor sap.” Tony grinned wickedly.

“I don’t have money. Do you?”

“Same-sex marriage isn’t legal here, I checked. If you take half my assets, the tax will sink you.”

“Sure,” Steve smiled, playing along, “I’ll get half of this apartment which doesn’t belong to you anyway. I want the toaster, Luke’s always breaking the one in the Triskelion.”

“Steve,” Tony kissed him hard, lips on lips, then flicked his tongue teasingly over his mouth when he parted it, “Give me a month, tops, and I’ll make back my fortune.”

“Tony, let me get this straight. I’m not _interested_ in money,” Steve said seriously. “Before you think I have any motives other than the one that’s out in the open.”

“I didn’t say you did, Captain,” Tony said, his expression meditative, “I like a few of the cars that were up on show recently, in Paris. All sleek metal and powerhouse engines.”

“You want to get rich again to buy _cars_?” Well… it wasn’t exactly… unheard of, but Steve wasn’t so sure what he thought of it.

“We could drive up somewhere quiet,” Tony purred, “Or maybe a car park that nobody uses. I’ll go down on you in the driver’s seat.”

“Oh God.” Steve breathed, choked by a thrum of lust that sped straight to his groin. Tony with his lazy smirk, slowly sinking to his knees, both of them in one of those sleek speed monsters, bent over into Steve’s lap due to the press of the leather-clad steering wheel against his back-

In his pocket, Steve’s phone began to ring again. Steve groaned out aloud, and Tony laughed, ruffling his hair, already worming out from under him. Trust an older man to obey priorities. “Something to think about.”

“Thanks,” Steve said dryly, even as he looked at the screen of the phone. SHIELD. He hung up. He could only hope that he _wouldn’t_ be thinking about how Tony would look between his legs, during the inevitable dressing down by Fury.

“I have to get to Washington soon, anyway. The White House,” Tony elaborated, when Steve frowned at him.

“Wasn’t that today… that is to say, yesterday, Sunday?”

“I got asked back,” Tony said, his expression ingenuous again, slipping off the bed and heading for the walk-in wardrobe.

“Energy contracts?” Steve asked skeptically. Tony had been equally evasive for his visit when Steve had asked after it, late in the afternoon when Tony had shown up at the Triskelion.

“Kind of. Don’t you have to see Fury?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to sleep in?” Steve asked hopefully, but Tony made a dismissive gesture with an outflung hand and began to study his rack of shirts. The phone buzzed again, and Steve sighed, picking up. “Steve Rogers.”

“Your ride’s on the roof of the Baxter,” Fury snapped. “Five minutes, or I send Natasha to get you.”

XXI.

“Another shipment’s been stolen,” Fury began, once Steve slunk guiltily into the War Room at the helicarrier and took a seat. Clint inclined his head, and Natasha eyed him briefly before turning her attention back to the Director. No other members of the Avengers were present. “This time, one of our operatives was onboard. He managed to tag one of the Armors before he was killed in the crossfire. We’re tracking the shipment into Somalia.”

Steve cleared his throat. “The others-”

“We’re not involving the Avengers, after that bloody disaster the _last_ time we had to have a covert operation. Until you train up your team, we can’t use them on black ops.”

Steve contemplated the impossibility of explaining stealth to a thunder God. “Understood.”

“Disabling the Armors is a secondary priority. Our first is to try and get as much information as we can on the perpetrators.”

“You’ll think Stark Industries would have put better muscle on their shipments after the last time,” Clint drawled, arms crossed behind his back.

“Considering that we have only had six rogue Armor attacks so far from a shipment of twelve, and all one by one, that isn’t the only thing that has not added up.” Natasha pointed out, studying the world map. “If you steal twelve Armors, why not use all of them all at once? Not even the Avengers would be able to manage so many.”

It was an unhappy thought, but Steve had to agree, if privately. “What do you think happened to the rest? Do you suspect that they were sold to the North Koreans?” Perhaps the theft and all the Stark Industries press that had followed it had been some sort of elaborate… cover up.

“If they were, I want to find out.” Fury scowled at the blinking red dot on the map as it edged into port at Somalia. “The three of you will be dropped near Merka at night. The facility seems to be between Barawe and Merka. If it’s underground, which it probably is seeing as we haven’t caught anything on satellite, the entrance is probably at Merka.”

“Airstrip, a port and Al-Shabaab. Lovely.” Clint said dryly. “Miss Red, Captain Blondie and I will fit right into a town full of Islamist insurgents.”

“You’re all not above subtlety, I fucking hope.” Fury jerked his chin at the holoscreen. “You have five hours to present me with a working plan, then you’ll be sent to the dropzone. Understand? Good. Have at it then.” Fury turned to go, and frowned at Steve when he got up from his chair to follow him.

“Short word?”

Fury nodded curtly, and Steve followed him out into the corridor, the ground humming under his feet from the helicarrier’s powerful engines. “Uh, about this morning,” Steve murmured, when the doors closed, “Sorry.”

“Try not to do it again,” Fury said, unconvinced. “But I thought you’d at least keep a low profile until the court-martial was over.”

“I _am_ ,” Steve said, forcing himself to keep calm. “I will.”

“All right,” Fury said, inscrutable. “It’s your life.”

“About the court-martial-”

“You won’t be called as witness until the mission’s over.”

“What about the threat?”

“I have it on very good money that there’ll be an injunction tomorrow on the enforcement of DADT. Should throw a wrench in their plans. Ain’t going to be a permanent fix, though.”

“You did all that?” Steve asked, incredulous. “I thought the judge was dragging her feet on the injunction until maybe the November elections.”

Fury shrugged. “You’re the walking result of half a billion dollars’ worth of military research, son. SHIELD has an interest in keeping you out of the hippie civilian circuit, at least until we figure out what makes you tick.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Fury.”

“Don’t fucking tear up.” Fury clapped him on the shoulder and stalked off to terrorize other minions.

Steve peered back at the War Room, then after Fury’s back, and then furtively palmed his phone from his pocket. Tony picked up after the second attempt, sounding cautious.

“Hello?”

“Tony, it’s Steve.”

“Oh, you.” Tony sounded amused. “It hasn’t even been more than a couple of hours, Captain.” There were the sounds of traffic in the background – Tony was probably on the way to the airport. “And yes, before you ask, I’m not alone against capitalist agents, Arthur is back.”

“Good.” Steve said, having had doubts about leaving Tony alone in the admittedly security-locked Baxter building. “Listen, I might be away for a couple of days or so. Fury needs me to do something.”

“Okay. Should I be jealous?” Tony laughed when Steve sucked in a quick breath. “I guess that’s a no.”

“Definitely a ‘no’.”

“And whatever you’re doing is top secret, and if I find out you’ll have to kill me?”

“That’s far too last century, Mister Stark, we’re civilized now – we just sue people for committing treason.”

“Perish the thought.”

“We’ll catch up, when I come back?” Steve asked, trying to sound confident but ending up hopeful.

“Sure.” Tony purred. “Take long enough and I might already have that car we were talking about.”

“I thought you were meant to encourage me to come home earlier.”

“Enjoy yourself, Steve,” Tony said, with a soft chuckle. “Try not to warrant a rescue. I have no sidekick now, and Miss Potts will swear something awful if we have to chance her arthritis and fly to foreign parts looking for you.”

Back in the War Room, Natasha was already perusing a screen of scrolling data, which Steve picked out as the SHIELD report on Merka and the resident Al-Shabaab status and positions. Clint had enlarged a holographic, 3-dimensional map of Merka over the table, studying the port, though he glanced up when Steve walked in and sat back down.

“What do we have?” Steve asked, hoping to stave off any questions. Natasha had never shown much interest in any of the Avengers’ private lives, but Clint had a cynical form of curiosity and an equally cynical opinion of his companions.

“Tony Stark, huh. Does this mean that the Army gets to keep its Armors?”

“I don’t know what Tony’s got planned,” Steve said brusquely. “About Merka-”

“I’ve been to Afghanistan as well,” Clint said mildly, “Having one of those Suppression Armors with your team – no one’s gonna argue that they’re ugly sons of bitches and they can fuck up people worse than a shrapnel pipe bomb, but hell, that’s always good for morale and bringing kids safely home to their mommies.”

“Concentrate on the mission, Clint.” A glower at Clint only made the man smirk, raise both hands palms up in a gesture of mock-surrender, and turn back to the map.

-tbc: <http://edition.cnn.com/2010/US/10/12/judge.dont.ask.order/index.html?hpt=T2> :3-


	9. [fic] The Tower of Yesterday [9/?]

XXII.

Steve’s estimate, as it turns out, was way off. It took Clint a couple of days snooping around in disguise to find the underground storage warrens, and another couple of days for them to scope out security and realize that the only real way to sneak into the warrens was via frontal assault (Steve and Clint in favor, Natasha against) or by somehow getting into one of the trucks that pulled in and out of the base, about once or twice a day.

Steve was beginning to miss his shield, but he knew that he had to leave it behind on the helicarrier. It was too obvious, too iconic; of late, he and the US Army were a little synonymous, thanks to the frenzied media coverage prior to trial.

“Smugglers,” Clint said, when he pushed past the dirty, beaded curtain into the grimy room of the safehouse, where Natasha and Steve were playing a desultory hand of baccarat (Steve 0, Natasha 4), shouldering a heavy pack onto the ground.

He sat heavily down beside the upturned crate that served as their table, and Natasha wordlessly began to shuffle. Steve’s build and Natasha’s gender meant that the only person who could safely walk around Merka was Clint, albeit in unassuming clothes, a fake moustache and a bit of color to darken his skin. Clint, apparently, was one of SHIELD’s most successful spies – the Avengers position was a side-grade that would allow him to have a family that he never disclosed.

On a few of his more paranoid days, Steve suspected that Clint still worked full time, after all – perhaps the Avengers _were_ his current assignment.

“Weapons?”

“Nothing so interesting. People.”

“ _People_?” Steve frowned instantly.

“Everything gets traded in Somalia. It’s pirate country,” Clint looked at his cards critically. “Any color of drugs, oil, illegal weaponry, laundered currency, uranium, any color or age of man or woman. And lower your goddamn voice, the safehouse we’ve got is good, but make a scene and they’ll hear us from the street.”

“The skin trade is common everywhere,” Natasha said, the light from the candles set on another, slimmer crate against the wall shadowing her eyes under her fringe. “It is common in my country. Russian women are… in demand. Willingly, or not. Don’t start, Captain. People are bought and sold even in the United States. Prostitution is just another name for it.”

“And we’re not here to get involved with the local fauna, Rogers.” Clint said patiently.

“Okay.” Steve let out a harsh breath. “We need to get in one of the trucks. I, uh, I guess if they’re smuggling people…”

“I can hide in the truck, and the two of you can drive,” Natasha said, with some distaste. “It is not so creative.”

“Sometimes the old ones are the good ones. Speaking from experience.” Clint pointed out. “Elaborate ideas have unforeseen hiccups.”

“We’ll need passwords, probably.” Steve thought about it. “And we might be recognized.”

“You’re two decades behind, Steve.” Clint said dryly. “SHIELD has a few new toys, designed by Reed, and I already have the passwords. The next truck is going to load up at the docks at six hundred hours, give or take. Security’s lax on the route and there are some parts where we can get a truck to stop without it being noticed, then we’ll be able to get on board. I know the route, I’ll drive.”

“Then the people?”

“We’ll raise the alarm if we let them go,” Clint said flatly. “We’ll do the mission, and then if there’s time, we’ll come back for them after. All right?”

Steve knew an empty promise when he saw one, if only because of the logistical problem of stealing away again with a large group of people. “Does it have to be like that? Maybe we could free the people at the port, and then load up crates and-”

“Yeah, like a pack of vigilantes suddenly freeing the goods isn’t going to raise the alarm.”

“Or if there’s another shipment?”

“There is,” Clint arranged his cards, not even looking up, “Crates of cocaine, later in the night. But the first load of goods will be moved into the base anyway, and it’s going to be a little harder to hide Natasha in the second sort of shipment. Besides, we’ll have a little more control where the first shipment ends up being stashed for pickup, yeah?”

Steve still didn’t like the idea, but he didn’t have other alternatives for now. If he could lock the people someplace safe, they should be able to come back for them, after getting the information. He _would_ come back. “Clothes?”

“In the pack.”

“How are we going to explain getting Natasha out from the ‘goods’?”

Natasha’s smile was thin. “Don’t worry about me, Captain.”

“All right,” Steve said, dubiously.

“You heard the lady. And try not to talk, when we’re dressed up. I don’t think your Somali is that good. How are you with contacts?”

“They make my eyes water.”

“Well, you’ve got eight hours to fucking get used to them.”

XXIII.

As Clint had predicted, it had been easy to get the truck to stop along the route, in a deserted string of narrow streets, by the simple of expedient of overturning some crates over the pitted road. Silencer shots from Clint took care of the drivers, which they then stripped of their khaki jackets and weapons and put them on. Steve then carried the bodies into a heap of rubbish piled up within an alley, and stacked bags of rotting garbage over the bodies. Wiping his hands, he trotted back to the truck, where Natasha was already climbing into the back.

It was suspiciously quiet, and dreading what he would find, Steve took a look.

The stench of human waste and vomit made him choke and take a step backwards in horrified disgust. Many of the people within the truck were comatose or worse, sallow and wasted from what appeared to have been a sea journey, their heads lolling on each other’s shoulders, clothes suspiciously torn and discolored. None of them reacted to the doors opening or Natasha stepping around them. Steve’s stomach did an ugly flip, and he almost hoped that drugs were involved, rather than any alternatives his mind could think of.

Natasha was picking her way over to a fairly clean spot, seemingly unconcerned, but Steve turned quickly to Clint with a hiss. “We can’t take them there. We’ve got to do something.”

“Do what?” Clint asked flatly. “Wire up to Fury, ask him to send a chopper? I can see how that’s going to go.”

“Then, we’ve got to let them go. We’ll think of something.”

“Right, the soldiers won’t miss a group of absolutely defenseless and malnourished women sitting in an alley, which won’t be able to fend for themselves and will just get recaptured or worse.”

“Take a detour. Drop them off at the safehouse.”

“We’ll be noticed, and then it’ll be the same story.” Clint said irritably. “C’mon. We have to move. Besides, Natasha will be with them, all right? She’ll make sure they’re secure before she moves on to meet up.”

Steve looked into the stinking gloom, and Natasha inclined her head at him. With a deep sigh, he stalked over to the passenger seat, as Clint closed the doors and followed him. “I don’t like it.”

“Stop talking.” Clint growled, starting up the engine, and then picking up the synth-skin masks and tossing him one. “Put one on.”

Steve tugged the uncomfortable material onto his face. Reed had invented it – a skintight, extremely lifelike mask that could be pre-shaped with molded facial features and colors, and could be pressed on within a minute, and shaped easily during application. The machine that ‘printed’ it was lightweight and the size of a small scanner; it could take, for example, Clint’s photographs from his spy work and mold the masks accordingly to any closeup.

It didn’t last too long, however – only a couple of hours at maximum before it started losing consistency, a flaw that Fury was still bugging Reed to fix in his spare time. “How could you just-”

“I said shut up.” Clint snapped, his eyes fixed on the road. As Steve sucked in a deep breath, Clint sighed out aloud. “Look. I have kids. Some of those people in there, they had just a few years on my kids. But I’ve been in this job long enough to know that you need to see the bigger picture. If you get stuck on giving every beat up soul along the way a helping hand, you’ll never be able to change anything.”

“You’ve been doing this for way too long.” Steve said, after a block of streets was spent in uncomfortable silence.

“Tell me about it.” Clint eyed him briefly, coolly. “I asked Fury if I could retire, and he stuck me with you kids. Now I still do this, if a lot less often, _and_ babysit in my newfound spare time.”

“You don’t like being in the Avengers?”

“Didn’t say I didn’t.” Clint turned a corner carefully, glancing left and right. “You’re all good kids. We get nice, clean missions out in the air. People shaking you by the hand afterwards instead of returning fire. For what it’s worth, the wife is a big fan of what you… what _we_ do. As are my kids. Their dad’s a hero, on the news with Captain America. Not skulking around in ports run by insurgents, making bad choices on peoples’ lives.”

Steve couldn’t usually navigate Clint’s sardonic smile. “It’s just different ways of making the world a better place, the Avengers, and SHIELD. That’s SHIELD’s motto too, isn’t it?”

Clint stared at him thoughtfully. “And you really, sincerely believe that, don’t you.”

“Yeah.” Steve said, a little surprised. “Don’t you?”

“You know, I had doubts when Fury decided that you’d lead the Avengers, as compared to Thor, or Luke, people with a few more years under their belts. After a while, I sort of saw his point.”

“I always appreciate feedback,” Steve said, trying to parse Clint’s observation. “I know I don’t have as much experience as you do, or Luke.”

“That wasn’t what I meant, but we’ll have to leave that for later. We’re nearly at the check point.” Clint squinted at him in the gloom. “Disguise looks good. Now just look menacing and let me do the talking.”

XXIV.

The checkpoint didn’t even bother to look closely at them, waving them through into the tunnel after exchanging a few bored words with Clint.

The tunnel opened into a dim underground carpark that had probably once been a loading zone for a warehouse. The trucks were just clear of the ceiling, parked in a row beside busy strings of people and forklifts moving crates and sacks. A mujahideen directed them, waving, into a space that looked far too narrow for their vehicle, but Clint slotted them in like he drove trucks every day of his life.

‘Now what’ Steve mouthed, but Clint rolled his eyes at him and opened the door. It was a squeeze to get out, and the mujahideen even smirked in commiseration and said something in Somali. Steve nodded in what he hoped was agreement, even as Clint said something behind him. The mujahideen inclined his head in response, and strode off briskly to a tall, bearded man standing on a crate holding a clipboard.

Clint touched his elbow lightly, and Steve nodded, if uneasily, following Clint. The underground carpark wasn’t too heavily guarded – there were men at the entrance to the tunnel, two exits and at the stairway up until what looked like a makeshift supervisor’s platform. A group of men were standing on the platform, talking animatedly, three mujahideen dressed in haphazard Al-Shabaab fatigues, two in sleek dark jackets and military-cut pants. Clint was heading briskly towards the exit below the platform.

Half-expecting someone to intercept them, or for Natasha to start breaking out of the truck, Steve followed Clint as they wove around forklifts and sweating men heaving barrels onto a trolley. Oil, perhaps, Steve thought, glancing at the stains, and then looking curiously around at the crates, stamped in German script.

Just as they reached the base of the platform, Clint abruptly intercepted one of the crate-carriers, talking to him in a friendly tone. The man shook his head, paused, then shook his head again, but Clint kept on talking. Uncomfortable but forcing himself to keep calm, Steve concentrated on the platform above him. With his enhanced sense of hearing, he could just make out the voices over the noise from the illegal industry around them.

Fury had made him train his memory, to learn how to memorize strings of information, memorize images with a glance. He hadn’t turned out to be quite the sort of material that SHIELD really needed to employ on a full-time basis, but it had turned out useful on the battlefield, with enemy positions and maps that he had to carry in his head, at least.

When the man with the crate seemed to be losing his patience, Clint waved at him and started off into a wide corridor, following the stream of people carrying crates, documents and the occasional supervising mujahideen, then abruptly veering off to a side corridor, then to another, until he found an empty, dusty room. “This used to be a bigger operation,” Clint said, without preamble. “Looks like only half of the place is in use, now. Fury would be glad to know that SHIELD efforts on piracy have been working, at least. What did you hear?”

Steve concentrated, and repeated what he had heard, stumbling over the pronunciation, but Clint nodded as he went, his eyes distant. “The two men in the jackets on the platform are… business partners with Al-Shabaab. They were discussing pricing. Al-Shabaab’s men were asking for a bigger cut of the take, given the… nature of the goods.”

“The Armors?”

“Couldn’t say for sure-” Clint paused, tensing, at the sound of muffled shouting, and then the unmistakable staccato of gunfire. “Oh for all of bloody… don’t tell me Natasha already got started. We have to move fast.”

“Shouldn’t we-”

“Natasha can take care of herself.” Clint pressed briefly at the micro-communicator hidden in his ear. “We’re in.”

It took a few seconds before a female, clipped voice responded. “Scanning. Stand by.”

“Hill. I didn’t realize Fury had you on technician duty,” Clint grinned in the dim light from the flickering fluorescent on the corridor.

“He didn’t want to trust you lot to fuck this up by yourself,” Hill retorted sharply, and Steve winced. He didn’t have much experience dealing with Hill – he’d been introduced to her a couple of times, but she usually shuttled between the UN bases at Geneva, Vienna and Nairobi.

“Man’s got to love all the confidence.”

“Scan complete. The tracker’s in a big room, back down the corridor, sharp left, right twenty metres, second left.”

Soldiers were pushing past confused men, heading towards the car park, but Clint motioned for Steve to pick up one of the discarded crates, even as he did so. Whatever was inside sounded metallic, clinking as Steve shifted its weight easily in his hands. Holding the crates and moving purposefully, nobody shot them a second glance in the chaos, as they followed Hill’s directions.

They came up to a steel door guarded by a pair of mujahideen armed with rifles. Clint walked straight up, and then looked confused as one of the men held out a hand to stop him, barking out something in Somali. Clint argued back, until the men began to look agitated, then Clint abruptly dropped his crate on the man’s foot, easily breaking his neck when he doubled over. Steve rammed his crate into the other mujahideen’s stomach, jamming his hand before he could fire, and snapped a palm up, slamming the man’s skull against the concrete wall.

Clint squinted at the concrete, even as Hill said crisply, “Three bodysigns.”

“Easy.” Clint paused. “Unless they’re in the fucking Armors.”

“Doesn’t seem so.”

“Our funeral, eh.” Clint opened the door, and rolled quickly behind the nearest cover, already firing. When Steve stepped in, a body toppled slowly off an observation walkway, while two other men were crumpling to the ground.

“And you wanted to retire,” Steve said dryly, pulling the bodies, then the crates, into the room. Clint locked the door behind him.

“Just move something heavy up against this.” Clint ran a practiced eye over the ranks of silent Armors, and then at the steel reinforced, barred double doors beyond. “This is going to take a while.”

“There’s only a dozen. These are just the new ones that got stolen.” Steve did the math quickly.

“Whatever it is, we’re disabling them. We can worry about the others later.”

When the Armors were still, it wasn’t too difficult with practice to wrench open the chassis and rip out the reactor cells, then pry open the spineplate and pull out fistfuls of wiring. The cells went into their packs – the only components that the guerillas wouldn’t be able to replace.

When they were on their sixth, Natasha spoke over the earpiece. “Work fast. You’re going to have company.”

“What happened?” Steve asked.

“There was a disagreement between the guerillas and the Germans. A very protracted disagreement. I think the guerillas are dead.”

“Where are you?”

“Still inside the truck,” Natasha said quietly. “I’ll wait until it’s clear, then I’ll come on out after you. There aren’t a lot of Germans, but they’re skilled.”

“Fury isn’t aware of any German interest in the Armors.” Hill cut in, sounding doubtful. “We’re running the sound feed from Natasha’s earpiece through our databases.”

“I’m coming out,” Natasha said, and there was a heavy, metal _clang_ of the truck doors being kicked open.

Clint and Steve were working on the eighth Armor when the steel door rattled, then there was a dull thump, as though someone had just tried to put their shoulder to it. Steve had stacked the ammunition crates in the room against the door, which would hold for a while-

More muffled shouting, and gunfire, and then a muted discussion. Steve was prying open the chassis of the ninth Armor when the door abruptly shuddered, with a deep _boom_.

“Fucking superstrength, it’s so common now,” Clint muttered, jerking impatiently at the spineplate. “Like fucking herpes.”

“Thanks very much,” Steve said dryly, turning to face the door. Quickly, he looked around him, and settled for wrenching the chestplate of the Armor completely off, hefting it as a makeshift shield. “You keep working. I’ll hold them off.”

“This kind of scenario never works. A grenade, a smoke bomb, or a missile, and it’ll be all over.”

“Then work faster, Clint.” Steve settled into a defensive crouch as the crates splintered or juddered back into a screeching, clinking mess of armor plates and shell spiels.

A tall man stepped heavily into the room, dressed in a black wool coat, patched at the corners, worn trousers draped over bared feet. Part of his skull was metal, in a curving steel plate stitched with ugly scars onto unhealthily yellow flesh, over the dome of his skull and curving an inch over his brow, and the whole of his right arm was a metal arm that looked like a grotesquely weaponized StarkTech prosthetic. It was bladed down the forearm, and there looked like some sort of rifle muzzle against the wrist.

Behind the tall man were the two men who had been on the platform. The first had a thin face, tanned dark, with a cruel, thin smile. On closer inspection, what Steve had thought to be a ski mask on the second man from a distance was actually a heavy black scarf, wrapped around the nose to show only startling, all-pupil black eyes.

The first man started forward, but the masked man held up a hand sharply in command, and he subsided.

“ _Kapitan America_.” The masked man said, his muffled voice flat and cold, “ _Es freut mich, Sie kennenzulernen_.”

Steve’s hand went up automatically to the mask, but it was still in place. Seeing the movement, the masked man chuckled harshly, and pointed at the makeshift shield he was holding, ready for the throw.

“Well, that’s torn it,” Clint muttered, drawing his pistols. “It must be nice to be famous. Who _are_ you fancy buggers anyway, modern space Nazis?”

“ _Ja_ ,” the masked man said, his tone ironic, inclining his head. “ _Sie kennen mich als Baron Zemo._ ”

[tbc-  
<http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1101930621-161939,00.html> – the skin trade.  
Also, apparently Merka is also known on Wiki as Merca.  
As usual, feel free to correct me on the foreign languages.  
Es freut mich, Sie kennenzulernen – I am glad to see you (formal)  
Sie kennen mich als – You know me as]


	10. [fic] The Tower of Yesterday [10/?]

XXV.

Clint reacted first and predictably – by opening fire with his silencer. There was a blur in the air that made Steve’s eyes water to follow, then the thin man was standing just at the cyborg’s elbow, his own pistol smoking, the sound of gunshots a sharp, ringing echo in the enclosed room. Shells tinkled as they fell on the ground, and it took Steve a moment to register that the flattened rounds were shaped as so oddly because the thin man’s bullets had been _fired onto Clint’s rounds_.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” the thin man said in the stunned silence, in a mechanical monotone, his English gutturally accented. “I am Colonel Dietrich Brandt, of the Wiking-Jugend, and I can step outside of time, as perhaps you have already surmised, Herr Barton. Please do not be rude. The Baron has been interested in meeting _Kapitan_ America for some time.”

“I don’t have anything to say to Nazis,” Steve said warily, wondering how long it would take for Natasha to reach them and assess the situation. If she could create a distraction, he could take out the cyborg, and then they could team up against Brandt.

The Baron chuckled harshly, and Brandt smiled, an ugly curl of his mouth. “Aren’t you even a little curious about the shipments, _Kapitan_? The so very convenient way they tend to go missing?”

“I’m sure you can say whatever you want to say to us once you are in custody.” Steve saw the gleam of a pistol muzzle beyond the door, and threw the makeshift shield at the cyborg even as Natasha opened fire. Baron Zemo dived for cover, behind one of the crates that Steve had previously stacked against the door, even as metal tinkling on the ground informed Steve that Brandt had fired shots to stop Natasha’s rounds.

Focused on the cyborg, Steve was already lunging forward, tackling him heavily back as he stumbled from the shield blow to his belly, twisting to avoid the wickedly modified arm, and curling the fingers of his right hand tight into his neck to slam the cyborg’s head against the edge of the steel door, then again on the concrete wall as the cyborg only blinked owlishly at the brutal impact. Natasha let out a harsh hiss of pain – the retort of Brandt’s gun deafeningly loud beside him – then Brandt was stumbling back with a choked shout, clutching at his shoulder.

“Bastard can only do his time trick for fifteen seconds, and he has a cooldown!” Clint snarled, already reloading. “Natasha-”

The reinforced double doors behind Clint abruptly burst inwards, tortured metal screaming as it skidded across the concrete, blown open by missile fire. A gunship drew level just beyond it, the wide fans of its hovercraft wings whirring to keep it steady, and then Steve was running before he could think as he heard the telltale hissing from the slender muzzles set beneath the sleek black cockpit. Clint yelped as Steve grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him away as hard as he could, even as a SmartTek embed sectioned itself neatly onto the ground upon which Clint had been standing, the proximity sensor beeping instantly.

The last two sets of Armor probably saved their lives by interrupting line of sight from the embed; four rounds of proximity shards punched into the suits, even as a sharp pain flared in the back of his knee and on his flank. There was a metallic, rolling sound behind them that Steve instantly identified as _grenade_ , gritting his teeth as he threw himself over Clint… but then somewhat to his relief, instead of the blast he was expecting, choking white smoke billowed around them.

Clint was snarling; Steve felt an elbow jab into his shoulder as Clint twisted on the ground to take aim at the sounds of running feet. He fired blindly, and there was a heavy thump, muffled shouting in German, then the gunship’s engines receded even as the smoke began to clear, leaving the still body of the cyborg behind, the back of his skull caved into a red ruin from one of Clint’s bullets.

“Damnit… god _damnit_ ,” Clint was snarling, as Steve tried to pull them both to their feet, but ended up having to be supported up by Clint as his shattered knee refused to listen to him. Clint was _bleeding_ too; the shard must have gone through him and- “It’s just a graze,” Clint said, seeing his stare, and clapped his hand against his side. “You… that… Steve, that shard went through one of your _kidneys_ … could have _killed_ you if that Armor hadn’t been there… why the _hell_ -”

“You have kids,” Steve said, blinking, stumbling back against the nearest Armor. It seemed pretty self-explanatory. Also, the pain was fading into a deceptive numbness that he recognized. “I’m going into shock,” he told Clint, matter-of-fact. “Could you help me put pressure on the wound before I bleed out?”

“Oh, for all the bloody… Natasha, call Fury, we need an extraction!”

XXVI.

Waking up in the helicarrier hooked up to drips and machines wasn’t an uncommon experience, and it tended to be an unpleasant one – it meant that a lecture from Fury was soon incoming. Opening his eyes warily, trying to sort through the lightheadedness from painkillers and drugs, he recognized a familiar figure slouched asleep on a bedside chair. Steve smiled and reached over.

At the first light squeeze, Tony sat up violently in the chair beside the bed, nearly upsetting the laptop on his knees.

“Tony?”

“Hey.” Tony recovered quickly, already back to looking unruffled. “Funny way the world works. Now you’re the one out for the count and I’m the one in the chair.”

“How long was I out?”

“Couple of days. Fury kept you anaesthetized,” Tony’s darkening expression was eloquent enough of what he thought about that. “Apparently a necessary part of a super soldier healing process is to keep you immersed in some sort of blue gunk.”

“Yeah. Ask your landlord, he was the one who invented that.” Steve tried moving his right leg.

His knee ached something fierce, but his leg obeyed – he’d be able to limp heavily along now, or just rely on crutches for a week. Bruce and his team had been the ones who had come up with the supersoldier serum, but Reed had been the one who had studied it afterwards, found the compounds that could accelerate healing, mapped out the changes to his DNA structures and structured the dietary list of supplements that he needed to take to keep up with his body’s enhanced metabolism and function.

“Oh.” Tony looked somewhat more reassured once Reed came into the equation. “What happened, anyway? Fury’s back on his ‘FYI’ attitude, even when Jan made a scene.”

“She did?” Steve grimaced.

“Yeah. She got tipped off somehow that you were hurt, and then she called me. The kids went back yesterday,” Tony added, when Steve looked around the infirmary quickly, in case Jan was hiding somewhere. “Fury gave them something to do before he blew his top.”

“Ah.” At Tony’s expectant look, Steve wondered how far Fury’s ‘FYI’ outlook extended over a non-SHIELD member. He wasn’t sure how Tony would react to the knowledge that there was something definitely suspicious about how easily the Stark Industries Armors tended to go missing, or how the gunship that had extracted Baron Zemo had been of the latest Stark Industries design that Steve had last seen in prototype form on this year’s Stark Expo, or the news that Zemo was back. Everything seemed potentially explosive.

Seeing Steve’s uncertainty, Tony sighed, and squeezed his hand lightly. “All right. I won’t pry, if you can’t tell me.” Steve felt relieved. “Though I’m a little disappointed that nobody trusts me.”

“It was Zemo,” Steve found himself blurting out, feeling stung, then as Tony inhaled sharply, added, “Or at least, he said he was. If the gunship hadn’t shown up we could have taken them.”

“What got you?”

“SmartTek embed from the gunship,” Steve said reluctantly. “It was wired on Clint, but a couple of suits of stolen Armor and I got into its crosshair.”

“I see,” Tony said grimly, closing his laptop and slipping it into a leather satchel, then pulling the strap over his shoulder. “I think I need a word with Fury.”

“I’ll go with you-”

“No, you stay here and rest up.” Tony said sharply, then he sighed out aloud at the look on Steve’s face, reaching over to curl his long fingers briefly over his shoulders and whisper into his ear. “I’ll rather ‘discuss’ how happy I am that you’re safe when we’re someplace without cameras, so just sit tight until I’m done, all right?”

Steve flushed, even as his cock twitched hopefully at the purr in Tony’s voice. “Uh… all right then.” A thought occurred quickly to him. “Could you also ask Fury what happened to the women? We rescued some people. Who were being sold,” Steve added awkwardly, when Tony arched both eyebrows.

“Attaboy then.” Tony patted him absently on the shoulder. “I’ll ask, and be right back.”

Steve tried to sleep once Tony had gone, but couldn’t manage to, thinking back over and over again about Somalia. If Stark Industries was selling technology to terrorists… that couldn’t bear imagining. Surely Obadiah and the board of directors weren’t _that_ greedy… or stupid enough to realize that their ploy was transparent enough to throw doubt on their company once the Armors or gunships started showing up on the other side of the front lines. Not even all of their pocket senators and economic clout would prevent the company from being brought down if it could be proven that they were taking terrorist money.

And as for Zemo – like all faithful readers of Marvels, Steve knew that Zemo was actually a chemical compound: zolpidem, ethanol, methylchloride and ophentonyl, injected into victims to brainwash them. One of the few indulgences Fury had grudgingly allowed Steve during his history of working with SHIELD had been SHIELD’s files on the former identities of every known Baron Zemo prior to Howard Stark, and they had all been formidable men, giants of industry, estate or engineering. The cult that prepared and doled out the Zemo compounds remained unknown even to the best of SHIELD’s efforts; but they were known to predate the Nazi movement.

Whoever Zemo was would be a problem, even if Steve didn’t actually recall much of the Wiking-Jugend – as far as he remembered, they were a branch of the neo-Nazi movement in Germany, and didn’t seem high profile.

He looked up hopefully when the door slid open, but then Clint walked into the room, and grinned at Steve’s expression. “Sorry. Not Tony.”

“I, uh…”

“No offense taken, kid.” Clint sank comfortably into the chair and dropped a battered bouquet of daisies on the side table. At Steve’s arched eyebrow, he said, sounding a little embarrassed, “They’re from Laura. My wife. As a thank-you.”

“How are you faring?”

“Not too bad. Two more days or so and I should be off the painkillers.” Clint was wearing a loose shirt, probably to hide the bandaging. “You’re more banged up than I am.”

“You don’t have accelerated healing,” Steve pointed out, wryly. “And besides, I knew I wouldn’t get seriously hurt.”

“Good thing the whitecoats in Stark Industries still haven’t figured out how to make the SmartTeks differentiate between overlapping heat signatures,” Clint said gruffly. “And just before you ask, those people we left behind in the car park have been duly rescued. Couple of them were already too far gone, but the rest are recovering.”

“I see. Thanks for letting me know.” Steve bit at his lower lip, his hands curling briefly into fists. At least they’d managed to save some. Hopefully Fury would be willing to expend the effort to help them, somehow. Steve was all too aware that being returned home might not be exactly the best move – for all he knew, perhaps the women would just be sold again, or tricked. He hated problems for which he had no recourse.

“Hey, I got away with a scrape because of you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Clint looked relieved. “Good. Let’s just forget that it happened. I’m getting old, or out of practice living with you kids.”

“You’re not even _forty_ yet, Barton. What about Zemo? Did you get a debrief from Fury?”

“Fury hadn’t heard about a new Zemo – the last one SHIELD knows about was conclusively killed by Tony Stark. He was _very_ unhappy.” Clint smiled a little maliciously – a self-proclaimed ‘field man’, Clint had little patience for people in the highly structured SHIELD thinktank. “I’m thinking Intelligence is up for an overhaul, with indiscriminate ass-kicking. Reed’s been sent what little SHIELD knows about the Zemo formula, to try and come up with a scanner of some sort, or whatever.”

“And then we only have a few billion people in the world to scan.”

“You’re so optimistic when you’ve got holes punched in you.”

“Character flaw.” Steve thought back briefly. “And ‘space nazi’? Seriously?”

“Don’t you watch any movies?”

“Not recently.”

“There was that upcoming film about Nazis on the moon… Iron Sky? Never mind,” Clint muttered, at Steve’s blank look. “I’ll link you the trailer sometime.”

“Did SHIELD search the rest of the base?”

“They’d wiped the systems. Not because of us – Zemo and his friends had killed most of the mujahideen in the base by the time he got to us, so the remaining eggheads erased what they had and destroyed the computers. They probably have backups, but they’ve gone back into hiding, naturally. And ferreting people out of Somalia is almost as fun as winkling terrorists out of the mountains in Afghanistan.”

“At least we got the new Armors.”

“The old shipment’s still unaccounted for. But at least we know one of the players in the game.” Clint patted his side pointedly. “Once this heals up, I think I’ll pop back down to Somalia. By myself, this time, for a little old-fashioned legwork.”

“Didn’t you say it was going to be pretty much impossible?”

“A challenge might get me back up to scratch.”

“All right. Call if you need us.” Steve knew better than to insist that he go along – the mission had amply proved that Clint was best suited for fieldwork in that area. “Or if you learn anything interesting.”

“That’s on an ‘FYI’ basis, I’ll have you know,” Clint said, though the faint smirk that curled onto his mouth was a clear indication who had tipped off Jan, and in effect, Tony, to Steve’s condition on the helicarrier.

Tony returned to find Clint and Steve discussing Cohen Brothers movies, and Clint rolled to his feet. “I’ll get going then. You should come over some time and say hi to the kids. Laura would love to meet you.”

“Sure.” Steve looked over to Tony when Clint left. The other man seemed unruffled, though there was a tightness to his eyes that looked like residual anger. “Lightly grilled?”

“Man has a sharper temper than his father,” Tony groused. “We had a long argument about it being ‘none of my business’, then I decided to give it up as a bad job since it wasn’t going anywhere. Arthur’s arranging a chair, or crutches if you’re going to insist on dignity, then we can go home.”

Steve grinned. “Am I moving in with you already?”

“I could leave you at the Triskelion and go back to Washington,” Tony pointed out, though the corner of his lip quirked into a lopsided smile, self-deprecatory.

“What about Fury?”

“He said we should all ‘fucking get out of his hair’ for now,” Tony drawled. “And that he’ll get someone to remind you when you’re next expected in Washington. Do you want to come with me or not? I’m beginning to sense hesitation, Captain, and I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I have a big ego.”

“Just covering all our bases.”

XXVII.

Much to Steve’s disappointment, once Tony was satisfied that he was comfortable in the bedroom, he turned to leave. “Tony?”

“I’ve got something to finish up on in the lab,” Tony said vaguely, though he paused at the doorway.

“I’ll go with you.”

“You’re meant to be sleeping,” Tony frowned. “Reed said that the blue gunk solution works best if you sleep it off for the next few weeks. Then you can be back to trying to kill yourself in foreign places.”

Steve internalized a sigh. Tony’s temper hadn’t improved in the whole trip back to the Baxter building, but at least he hadn’t distanced himself again. Still, Steve forced himself to be patient. Baron Zemo had been a very difficult enemy for Tony, and no doubt it had brought back a host of unpleasant memories. “I can rest in your lab – I’ll like to see what you’ve been working on. I won’t get into your way, promise.”

Tony looked hunted. “It’s not finished. I don’t want to show anyone until it’s finished.” At Steve’s quick grin, Tony said, petulantly, “It’s a reasonable sentiment. Don’t make me regret not dumping you in the Triskelion.”

“I’m sure it’s already awesome.”

“It is,” Tony said, with no trace of modesty, “But it’s not finished.”

“I haven’t seen you for a week,” Steve ventured hopefully.

Tony instantly looked uncomfortable. “Steve, the faster I can finish my project, the faster I’ll be able to take care of the rogue tech.”

“It’s another Armor, isn’t it?” One Armor wasn’t going to help much, Steve wanted to say, though he swallowed the thought quickly.

Tony, however, seemed to guess. “Yes, it’s another Armor, and no, it’ll be more than just another Armor.” The edged tone was creeping back. “Is there going to be a problem?”

“No,” Steve said carefully, trying to understand. “Tony, what’s wrong? You’ve been strung tight since the helicarrier.”

“Nothing.” Tony grit out. “I’ve just been soundly reminded of my deadlines, that’s all.”

“We don’t need you to tear yourself up to come up with something, Tony. Fury has his own plans already, and the Avengers are also on board.”

“Then what did all of you melt me out for?” Tony growled. “The parties?”

“We couldn’t _leave_ you in there,” Steve said helplessly. “Also, I think Fury wanted you to do something about Obadiah.”

“I don’t care who’s in control of my company right now. The rogue Armors are the priority. I’ll deal with Stark Industries when I get to it.”

“They might be selling Armors to Islamists and neo-Nazis, Tony. I think _they’re_ the priority. You can leave the rogue Armors to us.”

“My hands are tied on bringing Stark Industries down, remember?” Tony retorted, his eyes narrowed and dangerous. “Unless you lot are concerned that I can’t handle the rogue Armors. Too old-fashioned, maybe? Or just too old?”

Steve sighed out aloud. “It’s never been about your _age_. It’s just that you’re…” Steve paused, thinking quickly, “The best placed right now to clean up Stark Industries. You could cut the problem off from the source.” Warming to his topic, Steve added, “The public still identifies you with the company. You could probably work towards-”

“That’s not how listed companies worked then, and not how they work now, Steve,” Tony said tightly. “It isn’t that simple. Putting the kibosh on something as big as Stark Industries is going to take time that you… that nobody can afford. I haven’t been idle – I’m already working towards stopping them at their game. But you’ll need me for the rogues, as well. I now know how they work, all of them.”

Steve hesitated, unable to lie when he would in actual fact have preferred Tony to fight white collar battles rather than suiting up in an Armor and duking it out in the dust.

Tony’s eyes narrowed, and he said, quietly, bitterly, “You should’ve let me keep on sleeping in the ice.”

“Tony-”

“Just leave it, Steve.” Tony said, sounding wrung out, drained, as he stalked out of the door. “And get some goddamned rest.”

Steve winced as he listened to the receding sounds of Tony’s angry footsteps. That had gone down about as well as he'd thought.

-tbc  
And yes, Iron Sky was the first thing that occurred to me when I was thinking of modern Nazi’s. Trailer here: <http://www.wired.com/underwire/2010/06/iron-sky-space-nazis/>


	11. [fic] The Tower of Yesterday [11/?]

XXVIII.

“Breakfast, Captain?”

“Sure,” Steve mumbled, gritting his teeth as pain spiked up from his knee and flank as he pushed himself up, squinting. Sunlight was streaming through the partially shuttered windows, and there was a pervasive scent of coffee and efficiency. “What time is it?”

“Eight in the morning, sir.” Robert Jarvis said with practiced precision from the doorway, impeccably dressed in a three-piece gray suit despite the time of day. “Coffee and breakfast shall be served shortly. Do you have any preferences or allergies, Captain?”

“No, uh, just make whatever you want.” Tony hadn’t come to bed over the night – Steve had slept fitfully, kicked awake now and then by pain and poor dreams. “Where’s Tony?”

“Mister Stark has not left the lab,” Jarvis said, with a look of indulgent disapproval. “But I am confident that Arthur will be able to get him to eat something. We have a change of clothes for you in the bathroom and a spare towel.”

“Uh… all right,” Steve said uncomfortably. The Triskelion didn’t feature butler service, though an increasingly harried-looking cleaning lady did sweep through the Avengers quarters once a day, and besides, Steve himself spent most of his time as a soldier in war-torn countries. “Thanks.”

“Would you need assistance with the bathroom?”

“No! No, I’ll manage. Thanks. Very much.” Steve said hastily, before Jarvis offered to iron his underwear or something equally awkward.

“Let me know if you need anything.” Jarvis turned smartly to go, probably about to make breakfast, and for a moment the sheer incongruity of the situation made Steve stop short in the middle of attempting to get out of the bed and to his crutches without falling on his face.

Due to his involvement in the Stark Family Trust and its shares in Stark Industries, alongside his personal real estate investments, Robert Jarvis was one of the richest men in America – and here he was, offering to make breakfast and coffee, like a servant of old, addressing his master’s friend. And Steve didn’t doubt that it would be _perfect_ breakfast and coffee, apparent lack of practice be damned. And hell, Tony probably took it all for granted.

Steve inspected the wounds in the shower, noting that the entry and exit wounds were already healing nicely, scabbed over and pink, thanks to the chemical solution of Reed’s invention. Given a few more weeks, the marks probably wouldn’t even scar. His knee was a little more difficult, but he could probably dispense with the crutches in a couple of weeks, as well.

Tony was nowhere to be seen even by the time Steve managed to dress and limp his way awkwardly to the dining table, upon which a breakfast spread of fresh bread, juice and coffee was already arrayed. Somehow managing to look prim and proper even in an apron, Jarvis served up scrambled eggs, baked beans, bacon, wilted spinach, pork sausages and grilled tomato, and then bustled off to wash the pans, ignoring Steve’s protests that he could do it after.

“Judge Phillips stood by her decision yesterday,” Jarvis commented over the running water, the sleekly tailored suit draped carefully over a chair, sharp-cut shirt rolled neatly to the elbows. “The Pentagon is reopening recruiting to openly gay men and women.”

“Wouldn’t have thought differently.” Steve said, wondering how much of a hand Fury had in the balancing act. Sometimes it was nice to have powerful friends. Or maybe Fury was claiming more credit where credit was due. Either way, things were beginning to look better. “But I don’t think coming out is a good idea until the whole policy is overturned. If it’s successfully appealed, everyone who came out would be in trouble.”

“It’ll be a long time more,” Jarvis predicted, as he wiped the frying pan dry. “And the government is already appealing.”

“I don’t see why they should. Obama wanted to overturn it in the first place.”

“Law shouldn’t be made by judges – they should merely apply it.” Jarvis turned his attention to the plates. “Let alone by a single judge.”

“And why should they apply it if the law is wrong?”

“What is wrong or right is really a matter of public opinion, Captain,” Jarvis said wryly. “A fair proportion of Americans would think it right, just as a fair proportion would think it wrong. And people are easy to buy, easy to push.”

“Don’t I know it.” Steve said quietly. “But it’ll get better. I believe it will.”

“It’s good to have faith.” Jarvis observed, “But if I may offer a suggestion?”

“Shoot.”

“One matter at a time, I suggest. It is not a comment made entirely for your benefit. Mister Stark has a lot on his plate.”

“And he doesn’t need to share my problems,” Steve finished, feeling a little hurt, but Jarvis met his eyes calmly, evenly. “No, I get why you’re telling me that. I guess it’s true.”

“Mister Stark is a man of obsessions, so my father said, and so I observed.” Jarvis went back to washing a cup. “Some of them are enduring, like his inventions and the problem of his ailing heart; the rest he drops in his wake when he encounters other matters of greater interest, men, women, liquor, the next horizon.”

“That’s not a kind thing to say, Robert.”

“No, it is not. Honest words seldom are.” Jarvis said, gently. “If you would still persist, then I would ask only that should matters come to an end, that you would still treat genius with the respect it deserves.”

“I don’t get what you’re trying to tell me,” Steve said flatly.

“Arthur told me about last night,” Jarvis replied, without looking up. “Mister Stark’s first priority will always be to his machines. That you must understand and accept, without question, you and Fury. Genius should be left to do what it wants; not be embroiled in politics, or corporate warfare.”

“Tony _himself_ wanted to be involved!”

“With ample encouragement. Not from you, perhaps. But I will hold you all culpable, if he dons whatever he is constructing in his lab to enter a war that was not of his choosing, and gets hurt as a result of it.” Jarvis set the last plates and cups neatly on the rack, drying his hands on the kitchen towel. “Would you like more breakfast?”

“No,” Steve wasn’t hungry anymore; Jarvis’ words cut sharp and to the quick, all the more because they seemed brutally sincere. “No thanks.”

The old family retainer was being protective, perhaps overly so, but Steve couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. He’d wholeheartedly encouraged Tony to try and do something against Obadiah and Stark Industries. And admittedly, save where he was meeting Pepper, or playing with technology, or comfortably drunk, Tony seemed to be on edge all the time, in various degrees of stress. It wasn’t just the transplantation into the future or his age; Tony had a weak heart, and anyone with an access to a bookstore or a newsstand would know it.

“Please do not voice my concerns to him, or if so, do it anonymously,” Jarvis made himself a cup of coffee, the percolator gurgling harshly. “He seldom takes such sentiment kindly.”

“On that you can count on me, Robert.” Steve assured him, even as he sipped his coffee, his stomach twisted in guilty knots. He’d contributed to the whole business of pushing Tony too fast, too hard, so soon after he’d had such a rude awakening far into the future. He’d been _blind_.

“Good.” Jarvis pulled up a chair opposite him, and picked up a copy of the New York Times from the kitchen counter. “Would you like me to fetch you anything?”

“Um. A laptop, or a phone. If it won’t be too much trouble.”

“Never.” Jarvis fetched a laptop from the coffee table – Tony’s, probably – and read the papers in comfortable silence as Steve checked his emails.

There was one highlighted ‘Priority’ from the lawyers, telling him to show up tomorrow in Washington; a handful from Jan, Peter and Luke, asking after his health; one from Fury, telling him to get his ass over to the helicarrier and that if he thought he had escaped a debrief he was soundly fucking mistaken; and a handful of supportive emails from servicemen and the public, as well as a sound helping of hate mail. Feedback from America’s citizens tended to be both roundly democratic and grimly couched in the First Amendment.

While he was replying politely to one of the hate mails comparing the apparent wasteful spending of the Avengers/Triskelion, warm hands slipped over his shoulders and an unshaven cheek pressed against his ear.

“A hundred thousand spent on toilet paper?”

“Definitely not. Peter’s peanut butter, maybe.” Steve said lightly, trying not to sound tense, but Tony sighed anyway, even as he pressed his warm weight up against Steve’s back. Tony smelled strongly of metal and oil, and as he twisted forward to lick into Steve’s mouth, he tasted cigarettes and strong coffee. Tony’s hair was tousled, and his eyes were developing dark rings, and Steve swallowed, looking away. “Did you sleep?”

“Overrated. Bert, can I get more coffee?”

“I think you’ve had enough coffee,” Steve observed. Tony hadn’t changed out of his shirt, and despite having rolled it up to his elbows it was irrevocably grease-stained and rumpled. Steve’s hands itched to reach over and pull Tony closer, but he kept his fingers on the keyboard. He’ll have to talk to Tony, first, somehow.

“I concur,” Jarvis said, with a slight frown. “You shall have tea.”

“I hate tea.”

Jarvis ignored him, turning back to his paper, even as Arthur sidled into the kitchen and took a teapot from a cabinet. Tony scowled, if halfheartedly, but didn’t make any comment, myopically reading over Steve’s shoulder instead.

When Steve started a new email, thinking to write to Fury, Tony reached over to the keyboard, typing: _Sorry about last night._

Steve hesitated, then he pressed enter and responded: _you were tired._

 _I’m old enough to know better than to take it out on you._ Tony’s long fingers were already used to a keyboard, Steve noted, callused but elegant, like a pianist’s. _Especially since it wasn’t your fault, none of it is. You’re the best thing that happened to me since I woke back up. I know that. And whatever I said, I do appreciate being defrosted._

Steve couldn’t help but smile. He probably looked foolish, but he didn’t care, relaxing into Tony’s loose embrace. _I thought you said the best thing was the Internet._

 _All right, to be precise, you’re the third best thing, after the Internet and modern engineering theories._ Tony teased, and Steve felt the curve of a grin against his cheek.

 _I take it that there was progress with your project? You’re in a good mood._ Arthur put down the cup of tea beside Steve’s coffee, and Tony picked it up automatically, shifting so that he could type with one hand.

 _Actually I did bloody nothing. Couldn’t stop thinking about how I was being too damned stubborn. Called Pepper at two in the a.m. to complain – her temper’s just as bad as ever in the mornings._

 _I’ll reckon._ Steve swallowed a laugh hastily, and ended up coughing. _You did that often?_

 _Sometimes._ Tony poked him in the shoulder reproachfully. _So, what are you doing for the rest of the day, soldier?_

Steve shot Fury’s email a guilty glance. _Nothing that can’t keep._

 _Let’s move someplace more comfortable._ Tony nuzzled the sensitive skin just behind Steve’s ear, making him stiffen and stifle a gasp, then he drained the cup of tea, smiled lazily and sauntered away towards the bedroom. Thankfully, both Arthur and Bert made no comment as Steve hastily logged out of his email and followed.

His reservations about Jarvis’ words returned once he closed the door, then disappeared in the next moment when Tony purred, “Why don’t you sit down on the bed and let me take care of you?”

“You didn’t sleep at all last night, did you?”

“Couple of hours or so,” Tony shrugged, as though that was perfectly well. “Sit down, Captain.”

“Bossy,” Steve said, in arch rebuke, though he obeyed, sitting at the edge of the bed under Tony’s direction.

“You like it. I love soldiers.”

“Pepper didn’t think so,” Steve said, his mouth going dry as Tony smiled his lazy, inviting smile and pushed his thighs open, kneeling between them and rubbing his palms lazily up his legs.

“Pepper doesn’t know everything about me, thank God.” Tony observed, as he undid the fly on Steve’s pants, then the zipper, with frustrating meticulousness, and then drew Steve’s cock from his underwear, pumping it appreciatively. “For example, Pepper doesn’t know that I like to do this.” Tony dragged his tongue slowly over the swollen tip, making Steve gasp and clench his fingers tightly on the sheets, his spine snapping straight, and Tony laughed, warm breath puffing teasingly over sensitive flesh. “You’re gorgeous. A damn sight.”

“I don’t think you’re fully awake,” Steve said dryly, rubbing his thumb gently over Tony’s cheek to the hollows under his eyes, then gasped and nearly bucked when Tony swirled his tongue over the tip and took it briefly into his mouth, cheeks hollowing in a teasing suckle.

“You’re complaining?”

“I don’t like drama, if you’re going to regret this later or something.”

“Try not to seem adult, it makes me feel even older. Also, I make my best decisions when I’m not entirely awake.”

“I’m not sure how to… _ngh_ -” Steve choked and arched as Tony took him into his mouth, slow and careful, a little awkward, like he didn’t do this too often; then he pressed his tongue tight against the vein and _rubbed_ and it was better, much better, when a rough palm wrapped around what Tony couldn’t swallow and squeezed, pumping in short, hard jerks. “Jesus.”

It had been a while, far too long, and he wouldn’t last; Steve pushed awkwardly at Tony’s shoulders in warning and whined as release curled up tight and shook him; shattering when Tony only chuckled and sucked, throat working, swallowing what he could and cupping the rest in his palm as he pulled back with a wet sound, chuckling again at the gasping moan that he drew from Steve as he did so.

The world seemed to be buzzing as Steve drifted back down from his dazed pleasure, blinking as Tony grimaced at his soiled hand and ambled towards the bathroom, his erection a hard curve in his tailored pants. “Wait… wait, Tony let me help you with that.”

“Mm. Give me a second.” The tap turned on, and Steve could hear Tony washing up as he moved up against the headboard of the bed and furtively checked the side dresser for condoms. Locating the silver packet, Steve looked up just in time for Tony to curl up against him on the bed – and fall asleep instantly.

Steve stared for a long, embarrassed moment, then he exhaled wryly and closed the drawer self-consciously. Then he spooned up, drawing Tony bonelessly against him and resolving to discuss with Tony what Jarvis had raised– if anonymously – later. He was dozing off when the phone in the apartment began to ring.

Outside, Arthur picked up, speaking to whoever it was in clipped tones. There was a long pause, then a polite knock on the door. “It’s Fury, Captain. Should I take a message?”

“Yeah. Please.”

There was another pause, then another knock. “Apparently he needs you to come to the helicarrier, sir.”

“Tell Fury to fuck himself,” Tony growled, without opening his eyes.

There was another longer pause, even as Steve shut his eyes tightly and thought of the apocalypse, then, “His response does not bear repeating, Mister Stark. Also, he says it is important. A debriefing about Somalia, and for your appearance in the court-martial tomorrow. Should I hang up?”

Steve looked helplessly at Tony, who pushed vaguely at his shoulders. “Go and play with Fury.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Steve rubbed his palm down to Tony’s hip, only for his hand to be batted away.

“Maybe when I’m a little more awake.” Tony yawned. “Go on. Be responsible.”

“I wouldn’t have thought to hear that from you based on your comics.”

“Being old structures your priorities, I guess.”

“You’re _not_ old. And in any case, I still want you to fuck me,” Steve said, trying to sound seductive and only managing matter-of-fact. Tony, however, blinked his eyes open and wide, then leaned up to roll him onto his back and kiss him roughly, all tongues and the bitter aftertaste of Steve’s come. As Steve moaned, pressing his twitching cock up against the hard muscle of Tony’s stomach, there was another knock on the door.

“Fury advised that Miss Romanoff will be arriving shortly to pick you up, Captain.”

“She can join in if she wants,” Tony breathed in the inch between their mouths, then he grinned at Steve’s mortified expression. “Don’t worry, Captain. I hate sharing.”

“So do I,” Steve replied, reluctantly allowing Tony to scoot off him and curl back up on the sheets. “I’ll come back after.”

“I’ve heard that one.”

“Tony,” Steve began, unsure, but Tony chuckled, his expression unreadable, waving him away with a flick of his wrist.

“If you want to make it up to me, get me one of those suits you sabotaged.”

“Bribery seems to be the sole recourse?”

“I accept blueprints and technical printouts as well.” Tony said sleepily, pulling a pillow over his head with mock petulance when Steve leaned down to kiss him.

XXIX.

“Not the suits. God knows what he’ll do with one of them. Printouts? See what you can get from the lab,” Fury looked irritable in the war room, as Natasha sat down. Jan waved at him from the table, grinning, and Peter looked self-important. Luke only seemed tired.

“Where’s everyone else?” Steve asked Jan, as he took a seat beside her.

“Hank and Bruce are working with Reed on a Zemo scanner,” Jan whispered back. “Thor’s in Alaska, protesting oil drilling. I don’t know where Clint is. SHIELD business, apparently.”

“He wanted to check up on some loose ends in Somalia,” Fury confirmed curtly. “If he can find out where the other Armors are, well and good, but his priority is to try and pick up Zemo’s trail.”

“Won’t it end in Germany?” Peter asked, industriously taking notes in a thick notepad.

Fury scowled at him. “My kingdom for fucking convenient supervillains.”

“You said ‘supervillain’,” Peter said, sounding gleeful, scribbling. “I’ll quote you on that.”

“Steve, I want you to talk Thor off the ice cap, seeing as you’re the only one he listens to. There are going to be two shipments of Armors passing out of US waters tomorrow, one headed towards Okinawa and another towards Karachi. He’ll need to be on one of them. As for the other one,” Fury ignored the way Jan and Peter instantly put up their hands, “Luke?”

“Sure.” Luke shrugged. “I mean, my wife will probably kill me, but what the hell, right?”

“You’ll be going with Natasha. We’ll borrow one of the fliers from Westchester, probably Jean, in case you both need to get off the ship in a hurry.”

“A telepath?” Steve asked skeptically. A cargo tanker could be a frenetic place with a mostly male crew, probably not conducive for a young telepath known to be prone to the occasional relapses.

“I’ll take recommendations from the Professor,” Fury shrugged. “Whoever it is has to be able to at least carry you and Natasha to shore.”

“What will we be doing?” Jan demanded, pouting.

“Steve’s out for the count and he has a hearing tomorrow. You and Parker get to coordinate both shipping efforts, as well as remain on stand by for any incidents that might occur in the meantime on our home ground.”

“You’re only making us stay here because we’re kids,” Peter protested, folding his arms.

Fury ignored him. “Make the call to Thor. Luke, Natasha, your ride’s in the hangar.”


	12. [fic] The Tower of Yesterday [12/?]

XXX

Steve was still feeling distracted when the court-martial adjourned, weaving his way past the trial counsel and out of the courtroom in Fort McNair. He’d given his testimony to the best of his ability, without any ‘histrionics’ or ‘grandstanding’ (as trial counsel had thankfully put it), and had endured cross-examination without a problem. After all, he’d faced far worse than sitting in a nice air-conditioned room and staring unarmed people in the eye.

Apparently he had to come back for the next couple of days at least, and had been offered temporary rooms at the base. Steve wasn’t sure if he wanted to keep flying back and forth between New York and Washington – it was tiring, and although he would like to see Tony, Tony was probably busy as well.

Fury had left him to his own devices today – apparently all personnel in Washington were preparing for something confidential. Once on 2d street, Steve was considering asking the Army Community Service to help him call a cab, when a sleek black Bentley pulled in through the visitor’s gate and came to a stop beside him.

The back passenger window scrolled down, and Steve blinked when he recognized Obadiah, a manila folder on his lap. “Captain Rogers. Would you like a lift?”

“To where?” Steve asked warily.

“Dinner? The air port?” Obadiah spread his palms with sang-froid. “Wherever you like.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that Fury sent you?”

“Oh no, Captain. I’m afraid that the Colonel and I have never really seen eye-to-eye, save on the considerable contracts he has provided the company with. I’ll just like to have a little chat.”

“I don’t think we have anything to talk about, Mister Stane.”

“Of course we do,” Obadiah said affably, “I’m afraid that business meetings and your personal schedule haven’t allowed me to discuss, as you could call it, ‘my side of the story’. I’ll like to start by denying categorically that we have in any way authorized sales of Armors to third world dictatorships.”

“What about China?”

“China isn’t a third world dictatorship, Captain. Just ask the man in the White House. Why, we owe them a lot of money, and America can’t possibly owe dictatorships any money. So thinking, it seems only courtesy to do good business.” Obadiah smiled sharply. “What about it? I’ll give you some inside information, in exchange for some of your time, and then at the end of it you get complimentary cab service to wherever you like.”

“The closest air port, then.” Steve said warily, and despite his instincts, got into the car.

“Champagne?” Obadiah offered.

“No thanks, Mister Stane,” Steve said, as the car pulled back out of the visitor’s gate. “Just say what you want.”

“I’m aware that Tony Stark has started up his own company.”

“Clean energy.” Steve pointed out quickly. “He won’t be making weapons.”

“Of course. And the world does need clean energy,” Obadiah said mildly. “Stark Industries isn’t concerned about Tony’s company, I’ll like to reassure you on that. I’m a little disappointed that he decided not to take up my offer to come back to the fold, but it’s his life, and I can understand wanting to be back at the helm of his own work.”

“All right,” Steve said neutrally. “I’ll let him know.”

“Good, good.” Obadiah rooted in the car compartment between them. “Cigar?”

“No thank you, sir.”

“We don’t need to be so formal,” Obadiah said complacently, “I think we all started on the wrong foot. Stark Industries does a lot of work for the US Army, after all. And I’m just as interested as you are as to who is stealing our Armors, and using them to conduct terrorist attacks on the United States.” Something of disbelief must have showed in Steve’s expression; Obadiah let out a sharp bark of laughter. “My dear Captain, I do hope you do not think myself or the company quite so crass or stupid to sell to terrorist organizations when our most important assets and setups are in the United States, with its Patriot Act, with its war president?”

“You’ve got two shipments stolen so far, Mister Stane.”

“Quite, quite. The first one, we were unprepared; no one thought that someone would have the balls to steal a ship full of Armors. The second one, we had invited quite a contingent of SHIELD forces on board. Perhaps Fury did not inform you,” Obadiah said urbanely. “But we employ… ‘superhumans’ in our security payroll, Mister Rogers. Every shipment we make has a full security escort. It just so happens that so far, none of it has been enough. But I’m not here to make my excuses. We’ve been cooperating so far with the Avengers and with SHIELD for our latest two shipments, perhaps you are aware. And of course, we do appreciate your efforts.”

“All right.” Steve said cautiously. “But we can’t be escorting your shipments forever.”

“I’m aware of that,” Obadiah inclined his head. “We’re making arrangements, in consultation with SHIELD, naturally.”

“You might want to have this talk with Fury instead,” Steve was sure that Obadiah had other motives, and right out of Court, with the Avengers’ well-being in mind, he wasn’t exactly in the right frame of mind to handle or identify bullshit.

“Oh, we already have. Since Mister Stark isn’t inclined to speak to me – or the other directors – at present, unfortunately I have to inconvenience you instead.”

“You could try Mister Jarvis.”

“Jarvis is exactly what I’m here to talk to you about, Captain,” Obadiah said amiably. “Are you aware that Robert Jarvis does not, in fact, have any nephews?”

“I figured.” Steve said neutrally. “But I also figured that Tony wouldn’t take kindly to a bodyguard, so Mister Jarvis had to slip one under his radar.”

“ ‘Arthur Jarvis’ is far more than a mere highly-paid bodyguard.” Obadiah handed Steve the manila folder. “I think you may find this of interest.”

Steve didn’t open the folder. “Maybe he’s an assassin, or an outlaw, or someone from Blackwater. I don’t see what this has to do with me. He’s obviously there to assist and protect Tony.”

“Arthur is indeed an assassin, an outlaw, and he did use to hail from Blackwater,” Obadiah observed. “But his foremost talent is at espionage of any form, as the spearhead of elaborate and international cons. Not the sort of person that I’ll like to find at the right hand of a friend.”

Steve decided not to comment that Arthur had introduced himself more or less as such – as a hacker, to steal Stark Industries blueprints. “All right. I’ll read the folder.”

“Good, good. And while we’re at it, Captain Rogers,” Obadiah continued, “Are you aware that within Stark Industries, the man with the most corporate power _is_ , in fact, Robert Jarvis himself?”

“He’s not the only trustee.”

“No, but he’s had a long time to get them under his thumb,” Obadiah countered. “Through his investments – not his father’s, mind you – the Stark Trust is ridiculously wealthy, and Jarvis knows how to bank on that, as well as the latent influence of his name. If one man could stop the sale of Armors, that man would be Robert Jarvis.”

“And what about all that baggage you brought up?” Steve recalled. “About employees losing jobs?”

“Tony Stark doesn’t have the power or the wealth to cushion the impact, but Stark Trust has enough resources to reallocate, retrain, retain,” Obadiah observed. “If Jarvis willed it to.”

“Funny how you didn’t mention this to Tony.”

“Man was fresh out of the ice, and he’d have clung on to the only familiar name that he had trusted all of his life. That would have gone down well.”

“And you can’t convince me that you _want_ Armor production to stop.”

“I’m a businessman, Captain,” Obadiah said urbanely. “I look forward and I see three things that will be in demand in the future as we start to run out of resources: water, energy and weapons. If we can corner the market on either of the former, I don’t mind ceasing production on the latter. After all,” Obadiah smiled at Steve’s expression, “You can sell energy and water to every human being, but God forbid that every man and woman own an Armor.”

“That isn’t what you said to Tony.”

“I told Tony that should he come up with a viable alternative, I’ll be happy to hear it. And I still am.” Obadiah pointed out. “I’m not in as powerful a bargaining position as Jarvis, but I’m still well placed to dole out a few favors. For you, even, as consideration.”

“And what do you have that I’ll want?”

“You’re one of those curious men who have no interest in wealth,” Obadiah steepled his fingers together. “What about a little power, instead? I could, for example, with a few phonecalls, cash in some favors and get DADT repealed within a week.”

Steve took in a deep, careful breath. “And you’re thinking I want this, why?”

“You’ve spoken out against it in the past.” Obadiah recalled, his smile lazy and dangerous. “And if I recall, you might have some more personal interest in it in the future.” At Steve’s narrowing eyes, Obadiah held up a hand. “Captain, you’ve been seen together with Tony Stark in public, fairly often. One could make observations on the way you treat him. And before you say anything, I have absolutely no problems with that.”

“You’ve been _following_ Tony around?”

“It’s for his own good.”

“Really.”

“Even if I didn’t respect genius for genius’ sake, and recognize the worth he could provide to Stark Industries, I’ll make no bones about it to you, Captain, but the board is of the opinion that it would be more… beneficial, if Tony Stark regains control of the Stark Trust from Jarvis.”

“And what makes you think he won’t shake up Stark Industries in the process and fire the lot of you?”

“We have ways. I’m still around, aren’t I, and Jarvis has never had any love for me. I’m only asking you to think about it, for now. And if you ever want to cash in a favor with me,” Obadiah handed him a white business card, “You have my number.”

XXXI

Tony wasn’t answering his phone, nor had Reed (who answered the intercom at the Baxter) seen him all day, so Steve resorted to calling Pepper, which somehow ended up with the both of them sitting on a bench in the Riverside Park, nursing coffee, chips and watching late night joggers pad past, the night air crisp and overlaid with grass, oil, and the rumble of distant traffic.

He didn’t feel like heading back to the Triskelion yet – Jan and Peter apparently were on the helicarrier, so the Avengers quarters would be empty, and Steve wasn’t sure he wanted to face Fury right now.

“The most obvious thing,” Pepper commented, “Is that Obadiah wants to wedge Bert away from the rest of us. He spoke to me too, by the way.”

“He did? When?”

“Drove past when I was on my way to meet some friends, in his big black car. I told him I was packing. A gun,” Pepper confirmed, at Steve’s mildly horrified look. “Fourth Amendment, Captain. In my purse.”

“All right, ma’am.” Steve swallowed the lecture in the face of someone at least three times older than he was. “And then?”

“He told me Bert was no good, that Arthur wasn’t his nephew, things like that. I told him Arthur was a nice young man, Bert had never done me wrong, and I didn’t care here or there about whoever was in charge of Stark Industries. Tony never had, anyway. It was just something that made him the money that greased the wheels of his adventures.”

“Tony cares.”

“Only because they’ve been making his Armors,” Pepper pointed out. “If they’d just been making guns, I think he could’a been talked into turning a blind eye. Tony’s used guns, he’s killed people before. All in a day’s work, adventuring. Sure, he always had his reasons, but then people who kill people always have their reasons.”

“You don’t approve,” Steve said, startled. “Never seemed that way in the, uh, comics.”

“A reporter doesn’t have an opinion when reporting, Captain. Tony knows I never did like some of the things he and Rhodey did. But it was war when we were going, war everywhere, up until he got froze up and we went our ways. I don’t think Tony wants to stop Stark Industries because his Armor kills people. He just doesn’t want them to give everyone what used to be his alone.”

It was a remarkably brutal assessment of the situation that Steve would have attributed to Fury or Obadiah. Seeing that he was taken aback, Pepper chuckled. “I’ve seen a lot of his Armors, Steve. A pacifist won’t put machine guns on an Armor. That thing that tore up Rhodey until we had to have a closed-casket funeral? It was based on one of Tony’s prototypes, something he never got around to finishing, strung up in the basement of his big old mansion with scrap notes tacked all over it.”

“He’s making an Armor now.”

“Don’t I know it.” Pepper shook her head slowly. “He’s real proud of it.”

“He didn’t show it to me.”

“Tony wants to impress you. Maybe he don’t realize it yet, but he does.” Pepper’s grin was wicked, but her eyes were tired. “Could have been a better world without all the Armors.”

“I wouldn’t know that, Miss Potts.”

“ ‘Course not. War’s what you soldiers live for.” Pepper took a sip of her coffee and ignored Steve’s sharp exhalation. “Sorry. Coffee makes me a cranky old biddy.”

“Never.”

“Now ain’t you nice. But we’d gone and talked in a big circle.” Pepper said wryly. “You want to know what I think of Obadiah? I’ve known him for a long time, hell, back when he was a kid going up a line at a con, just like you. He ain’t lying when he said he was a fan of Marvels. The man’s a snake, but he’s a reliable snake, the type that’ll help you if there’s money to be had in the making. Couldn’t say the same of Fury the elder and Fury the younger.”

Steve hid his grin. “And Bert?”

“Bert’s a good man by my reckoning – all of his family are – never knew him well, though, only his father. He has his hands full with the Trust. Thank God Tony never thought to saddle me with all that.”

“It’s never too late.”

“Don’t you start, son.” Pepper fixed him with a mock glare. “I’m thinking you should stay out of it, like me. Let Obadiah and Bert keep trying to sort each other out. Tony can handle himself, and where Stark Industries is involved, he don’t care much which way the wind blows, not right now.”

“What _is_ Tony asking you to do?” Steve frowned. “Can’t just be writing those articles, fine as they are.”

“Why thank you, Captain,” Pepper said dryly. “But yes, it ain’t all about articles. I’ve been around a long time, and I know some useful people. That’s about all you need to know.”

“Now you sound like Fury.”

XXXII

As far as Steve was concerned, the week went past at a snail’s crawl, attending the court-martial and finishing up on the cross-examinations. Tony answered brief texts but not calls, and Steve opted to take rooms at McNair until Saturday. No one had attacked either Armors convoy, and Thor was getting restive; as such, once court adjourned in Friday, Steve talked Fury into airlifting him over to Thor’s ship to give the Norse God a bit of a break.

Shield strapped on his back, and suited up, Steve felt more normal than he had been in _weeks_ when he touched down on the deck of the cargo tanker. Thor broke into a broad smile, shaking him by the hand, as the hovercraft lifted back up into the sky.

“Your shift’s over for now,” Steve told him wryly.

“Many thanks. I will return as agreed.” Thor said soberly, clapping him on the shoulder with enough force to shift Steve a foot to the side, then he rose up into the clouds, and Steve was on his own. Apparently Fury didn’t think the ship would get attacked anytime soon, or a flier hadn’t yet been assigned. Either way, Steve wasn’t so sure about being flown off a sinking ship should the worst occur – the tankers had crew of a few hundred men, give or take, and he wouldn’t be able to just leave them to their fate.

Deciding to ask Fury about it afterwards, Steve ambled down belowdecks to get briefed by the SHIELD agents on board – and walked straight into Tony.

“Oh, it’s you,” Tony blinked, absolutely deadpan, dressed in a loose white cotton shirt, grease-stained in patches, and gray slacks, the clothes so casual that they seemed out of place. “I thought we’d get Janet and Peter.”

Steve stared, stunned into speechlessness for a long moment. “ _Tony?_ ”

“Reception’s a real problem out at sea,” Tony added, almost as an afterthought.

“ _What are you doing here?_ ”

“Interested third party? No don’t call Fury,” Tony grabbed at Steve’s wrist as he reached into his pocket. “He already knows.”

“He didn’t tell _me_.” Steve said, suspiciously.

Tony smiled winningly at him. “There are SHIELD agents on this ship, aren’t there? They’d have told Fury if I’d stowed away, right? So there’s no need to get into an argument.”

“Sure,” Steve conceded dubiously. “But really, Tony, you shouldn’t be here.”

“Fury was helluva hard to talk into it.” Tony started back down the narrow stairs. “But he agreed that the best way to test my devices is on the field. Welcome aboard the Narwhal, Captain.”

“Tony, I _don’t_ think-”

“You and Fury want me on your team of freedom-fighting friends, don’t you?” Tony drawled, his tone edged, without looking back. “So then, trust me to be worth a place on the team.”

“This is a really bad idea,” Steve sighed, though he grudgingly slipped his hand out of his pocket and followed Tony down the stairs.

“And ain’t that just grand.”


	13. [fic] The Tower of Yesterday [13/?]

 

[A/N: Too lazy to keep posting to multiple places, so I’m going to just code this in LJ format again.]

 

XXXIII

 

The fact that Tony seemed to stick to visiting only certain parts of the ship suggested to Steve’s increasing skepticism that Fury did not, in fact, know that Tony was on the ship, but then this suggested a remarkable security breach in terms of SHIELD intelligence that would have been out of character for Fury, so he wasn’t so sure. 

 

It was possible instead that Fury knew that Tony was there and was choosing to let Tony believe that he actually didn’t know, but that didn’t make sense either – Fury had so far indicated strongly to Steve that Tony was to be kept out of harm’s way, after all.  Unless Fury had a lot more confidence in Thor and in Steve than Steve had originally thought, or if Fury also had a vested interest in test-driving whatever Tony had cooked up… 

 

Tony had also attempted first to cajole, threaten and then finally implore Steve to stay out of the cordoned section of the cargo hold, but he had refused, tired of the secrecy and annoyed that Tony hadn’t _told_ him that he was going to stow aboard a sitting duck, and now stood silent, blinking.

 

“It’s not finished,” Tony said, a little sulkily.  Arthur had disappeared to scrounge up refreshments from somewhere, leaving them alone in the makeshift laboratory.  Suspended in a metal frame was a red and gold Armor, a sleek, impossibly form-fitting shell compared to its compatriots only metres away in the rest of the hold.  There were no armaments that Steve could make out, and it looked like pure science fiction.

 

“That’s an Armor… _your_ Armor?”

 

“I said it wasn’t finished.” Tony turned to type recalibrations into the console hooked up to the suit in wreaths of multicolored wires.  “I’m ironing out some kinks in the A.I.”

 

“Tony, it looks amazing.”

 

“I was _hoping_ to show you only when it was finished and fully tested, for dramatic effect.  Drop out of the sky into Washington DC, maybe, or make an appearance at the Triskelion.” Tony said, more and more testily, and Steve had to hide a grin, remembering Pepper’s words.

 

“It can fly? Tony, that’s incredible.  Look,” he added wryly, tentatively stroking a big hand up against the small of Tony’s back, “Not everything has to work like the movies, in big reveals or dramatic rescues.  I’m already as impressed as I can be.  It’s pretty much finished, isn’t it? That’s why you’re here.”

 

“There are a few kinks with the A.I., but yes, it’s flight capable.” Tony grudgingly leaned up into his touch, and arched back when Steve brushed his lips against the nape of his neck.  “I’m working here, Captain Rogers.”

 

“I haven’t seen you for a while.” Deciding to push his luck, Steve fitted himself against Tony’s lean back, careful about the chainmail of his uniform.  Tony grumbled to himself, but didn’t twist away, so Steve leaned his chin against his shoulder and closed his eyes briefly, breathing deep.

 

There was an insistent, low hum that was coming from under Tony’s shirt, obscuring his heartbeat.  “Tony, what’s that sound? From your heart.”

 

“A joint experiment with Reed.” Tony’s curt tone indicated that the topic was off-limits, but stubbornness was built into the Rogers family.

 

“What experiment? Can I see?”

 

“It’s just a pacer,” Tony said flatly, and swore when Steve stepped back and turned him bodily around.  “Fine, I’ll show you, if you don’t fly off the handle at me over it.”

 

Tony pulled off his shirt, and where the heart bubble once was, was now a strange, slightly domed metal disc.  Tony set his fingers into unseen pressure points in the side of the disc and pulled it off with a fluid click, revealing a concentric device that glowed a pale blue, the sound of the hum intensifying. 

 

“What _is_ it?”

 

“It’s a prototype miniature arc reactor.  Reed and I made an alloy of the original materials I wanted to use, those would have given me a type of radiation sickness.  This,” Tony rapped his knuckles sharply against the device, making Steve flinch, “Has more than enough natural energy output that it’ll make charging my heart no longer necessary.”

 

“Natural energy output,” Steve repeated, frowning at the device, “So where does it go if you’re not using it?”

 

“Reed and I are working something out,” Tony said vaguely, twisting the disc back onto the device to cut off the blue glow, and pulling his shirt back on.

 

“What happens if too much builds up?”

 

“I said we’re working something out, Steve,” Tony said patiently. 

 

An image of a battery imploding came briefly and gruesomely into Steve’s imagination.  “ _Tony_ , it’s not safe-”

 

“I hook it up to something to drain off the excess,” Tony snapped, reaching over to drum his fingers briefly against the inert shell of the Armor’s elbow joint.  “All right? I also briefly hooked myself up to Reed’s lab, but he got nervous when the thermolaptyic progenalyzer exploded.”

 

“ _Exploded?_ ”

 

“It’s a sensitive device which Reed forgot to hook up to a surge preventor, not my fault.  Pull up a chair for me and go do your rounds of the ship, would you? Captain… _Steve_ ,” Tony corrected himself, as Steve didn’t move, his expression hardening, “Reed and I are working things out.  It only needs to get drained about once a day, and this is only a prototype.  Besides, I feel a lot better than I used to.  Less tired.”

 

“You used to feel tired because you slept two hours a day and smoked to make up for the rest.”

 

“If I wanted to be babied I’ll find a woman,” Tony snapped, then he sighed out aloud and ran his fingers up over his face.  “Okay.  Okay.  You’re right.  I should sleep more and smoke less.  I’m sorry.  I really didn’t think you’ll be assigned to this ship, I was expecting Jan and Peter and I don’t like surprises.”

 

“You don’t like that I’m here?” Steve asked, hurt.

 

“Don’t look at me like that! God.” Tony glared at his console, typing viciously.  “I’m not exactly in the best frame of mind or appearance to deal with you right now.  I haven’t showered in a day and I’m having some sort of communication disconnect between my mouth and my brain-” Tony inhaled sharply as Steve put an arm on his shoulder and pulled, kissing him hard.  Hands froze over the chainmail, then carefully curled tight over his arms as Tony pushed up into the kiss with a throaty noise, leaning up on the balls of his feet.

 

“You should at least brush your teeth,” Steve said judiciously, when Tony pulled back, breathless.   

 

Tony stared at him, panting shallowly, then he smiled lazily, the manic, brittle air around him fading.  “Go and make your damn rounds, soldier, leave me alone.”

 

“I’ll see you later,” Steve decided, attempting authority. “Rest and shower please.”

 

“Yes, yes,” Tony said distantly, attention already focused elsewhere.  Steve passed Arthur on the way out, the bodyguard-assassin-ex-Blackwater mercenary unflappable as ever, balancing fresh coffee and biscuits, and recalled the manila folder, unopened and left with Pepper in his hurry to get mobilized.  Squelching his unease, Steve headed topside, towards the bridge.  He needed to have a word with the captain of the ship.

 

XXXIV

 

Sunday passed without event, and in his brief teleconference with Fury, Steve decided not to mention Tony unless the SHIELD Director brought it up first.  It seemed that the court-martial was ending on Monday, with closing statements, after which there was going to be a decision by the jury, that could take anything from a day to a week.

 

After the media firestorm and the mysterious threat naming him and Major Barnes, the lack of any concrete drama seemed a little of a letdown.

 

Tony looked up briefly from his laptop when Steve said this, his grin lopsided, on the verge of playful mockery.  They were in the cabin assigned to Steve, small and compact, with a porthole that opened out high over the waves, and Tony was cross-legged on the narrow bunk, ignoring Steve’s fastidious efforts to remove his shoes.  Steve’s costume was on a rack by the door, and he was dressed in a white shirt and slacks.  Tony had changed at some point, washing up, into a crisp shirt and brown trousers.

 

“They probably didn’t expect Fury’s response, getting a judge to come up with that order.”

 

“I suppose so.”

 

“I was told,” Tony said loftily, as Steve managed to get one shoe off, “That real life doesn’t work like the movies.” At Steve’s wry grin, Tony added, “Court cases don’t usually end in dramatic statements or press releases, or heroic dives over the courtroom bench at suddenly capitulating defendants.”

 

“This would make for a terrible story.” Steve agreed, pulling off the other shoe and arranging them neatly at the bottom of the bunk, rubbing the roughened palm of his hand up against a bared sole.  Tony narrowed his eyes briefly, but relaxed, apparently not ticklish, resting his feet on Steve’s lap. 

 

“Court cases are hardly ever sensational.  Driest form of human custom.” Tony said, a little teacherish, as he typed.  “There’s always a lot of posturing and chest beating at the start, then it just becomes a matter of who breaks first under the drudgery.  I have a lot of experience.  Stark Industries,” Tony elaborated, at Steve’s look of confusion.  “There’s always lawsuits with a large company.  Patents disputes, trade marks, employment disputes, property, leasing, anti competition, the lot.”

 

“I hope nothing comes out of it,” Steve said, thinking back about what he had felt when he had first read the note which had been passed to SHIELD.  “I can’t imagine what they could have wanted.”

 

“Probably just an ugly form of leverage.  When people are desperate, they’d go to any lengths.  You and Major Barnes are seen together fairly often, you’re best friends.  Whoever it was probably just tried a stab in the dark.”

 

“It was just a court matter for me, a matter of principles,” Steve rubbed carefully at the other foot, massaging, and Tony seemed to relax further against the propped pillow, going boneless and shuddering with a low sound of pleasure.  “But there’s been worse happening in the Army.  People get threatened over being outed, and so get forced into abuse or worse, there’s been cases.” Steve took a breath.  “Makes me angry.”

 

“It should.  But it happens the world over.” Tony pointed out, coolly cynical.  “Give some men and women a bit of power and they’d use it to destroy their fellow humans.  Here’s my prediction for you.  Women get raped in the Army, the Navy, war zones, hell, even in the Triskelion’s own back yard, out in the dear old Big Apple.  Even if DADT goes away, things aren’t going to change.  They report, it gets knocked back, they get marked for being snitches.  Either way, they’ve already been psychologically damaged for the rest of their lives.  Changing a bit of law doesn’t change human evil.”

 

“It gives legal protection.”

 

Tony’s lip curled, not quite a sneer, not quite a smile.  “Those women you saved from the container in Somalia, they grew up with legal protection.”

 

“Then what’s your solution?”

 

“I don’t have one,” Tony said blithely, “The world’s always been going to hell.  Then, before, and now, even after I’ve woken up.  Things don’t change.  People are as bonkers as ever.  Even if I didn’t have my weak heart, I probably would have been no different, going on adventures chasing the impossible.”

 

“Running away from the world won’t solve its problems.” Steve said resolutely.

 

“Then what? Support charity?” Tony asked facetiously.  “I’m invited to a few galas, in about a month.  You can come if you like.” At Steve’s scowl, Tony glanced back down at his laptop.  “We live in a society of excess in an information age where the plight of the starving and sick is easily available, and just as easily disregarded.  Humanity as a collective is selfish.”

 

“I don’t believe that.”

 

“Of course you don’t, you’re Captain America.”

 

“Pepper said you were building the… new Armor… and going up against the Armor thefts and sales as a sort of testament to your ego.”

 

“Not in such nice words, I think.” Tony said, untroubled, then when Steve was silent, added, “What, you’ll like me to deny it?”

 

“You’re not going to?”

 

“Didn’t you read that Vanity Fair article? I don’t like repeating myself.  Let Pepper believe what she wants, she will, anyway.”

 

The article had been terse on the details, but in the interview, Tony had stated that the Armors had been invented for exploration purposes, not for war, and the thought of any Armors being used anywhere near civilians sickened him.  Trying to reconcile the statement with Tony’s cynical outlook on humanity in general was a little difficult, but Steve decided that he would take it on face value.  Besides, what was important was the end, not the reasons to the end, in this case.  If Armors could be taken off active duty-

 

“You’re a nice kid,” Tony said regretfully, probably sensing Steve’s decision.  “Too nice.” 

 

“I’m nearly thirty.” Steve scooted up, setting Tony’s laptop carefully on the deck and pressing him down on the bunk, taking his mouth with what he hoped was confidence.  Tony let him kiss for a few heartbeats before shifting and taking control, his palms pressed to Steve’s cheeks and his tongue seeking entry.  Breathing in Tony’s smoky scent, hyper aware of the blood rushing between his ears, of the tightness of his slacks, Steve was fumbling with the buttons on Tony’s shirt, awkward and cramped.

 

Tony was chuckling, breathless, running his hands admiringly and distractingly up and down Steve’s spine and flanks instead, exploring the dips of toned muscle.  “No condoms or lube about, Captain.”

 

“Oh,” Steve said, disappointed.  “There are other things we can do.”

 

“All right.” Tony seemed to be laughing at him, so Steve nipped at the curling lower lip before he could be sure, felt the lean body beneath him shudder into a moan.

 

“We didn’t use a condom the last time.”

 

“A temporary lapse in good sense doesn’t forgive future lapses.  I was working on low sleep the last time.” Tony reminded him, and pursed his lips thoughtfully as Steve lapped down the curve of his neck, slow and unhurried, then he chuckled at Steve’s groan as Tony kneaded his ass with long fingers, pulling their hips firmly up against each other.  “I’ll think of something.”

 

XXXV

 

Pirates attempted an attack once they were almost within sight of a coast, but it seemed to be at random, the rag-tag intruders driven off easily by concentrated bursts of fire from SHIELD agents without even being able to board.  Tony was already lighting up from the deck as the pirates slunk away, ignoring Steve’s disapproving stare as he took in a gritty drag of smoke. 

 

“They’re cannon fodder,” Tony offered his opinion, exhaling acrid smoke.  “Poor sods, got a nasty shock.”

 

“I’ll say.” Sunlight winked off the sniper’s nest at the bridge, where Arthur was watching the pirates leave through a scope.  “What do you think is coming?”

 

“Something with air support.” Tony predicted.  “Small strike force that comes in hot, and then sinks the deed when it’s done.” Steve couldn’t help but look up sharply at the sky, searching for a threat that wasn’t there, and Tony laughed at him.  “Sensors will pick up something coming from the air, from miles away.”

 

“That’s good.” Steve squinted at the distance.  “The pirates don’t seem to be leaving.” The sleek ship was keeping its distance, but otherwise was following them.

 

“Bloody hell.  They’re out of sniping range.” Tony ground out his cigarette, and headed for the stairwell below decks.

 

“Tony?”

 

“Something might be coming.  I’m going to check the sensors.  Get the SHIELD people ready.”

 

Helplessly, Steve hesitated at the edge of the stairs, then shook his head and started briskly for the SHIELD agents.  He needn’t have interfered – the agents had already noticed that the pirates weren’t leaving, and were readying themselves along the deck, waiting for an attack.  Steve ordered the onlooking sailors into the panic room and trotted up to Arthur on the bridge, scanning the horizon, tense.

 

Minutes trickled agonizingly by, as Steve borrowed binoculars from Arthur to watch the cruising pirate ship and scan the clouds.  He felt trapped, on a ship with no way off save by dingy, and wondered how the hell the Marines could handle it, how normal sailors handled it, seated atop a metal coffin in an endless expanse of sea.

 

Just as he had made up his mind to go below decks and check on Tony, an explosion rocked the tanker violently to the side, then another, as Steve grabbed desperately for the metal railing and looked around wildly.  The skies were clear, which meant-

 

“ _SUBMARINE!_ ” Someone shouted from the deck.

 

Steve cursed, lurching forward, even as another series of explosions shuddered his grip briefly from the rail and nearly sent him toppling down to the deck.  The submarine was _sinking the ship_ , Steve realized, in shock.  All of Fury’s plans had assumed that boarding would take place first, given the type and value of cargo and the difficulties that it would usually prove to salvage.  Small wonder Stark Industries’ superhuman teams had been of little use.

 

Steve grappled for his phone, about to dial to the helicarrier, then yelped instead as it shorted out in his hands once he switched it out of idle, dropping useless onto the ground.  A localized EMP pulse.  That explained why the previous attacks hadn’t provided Fury with any intel. 

 

An _EMP Pulse_.  Tony’s _pacer_.  Panicked, Steve rushed down to deck, scrambling to get below deck, only to slip and crash heavily against the lower deck as the ship lurched again, metal groaning over the distant, insidious sound of onrushing water.

 

He could hear gunfire breaking out topside, shouting and screams of pain.  The pirates had probably come back within range to return fire, perhaps.  Steve ignored it, heading for the hold, only to stagger and slam painfully against the hull as his legs suddenly refused to listen to him, a sharp, stinging pain against the back of his right thigh, like a bee’s sting.  Strong hands were pushing him down onto the deck, and someone exhaled, high and irritable, pulling up his cowl just enough to jab a syringe into his neck.  Steve’s eyesight was swimming as he choked out a cry and tried to flail back at his attacker, connecting only with air.  He was vaguely aware of being dragged back up topside before losing consciousness.


	14. [fic] The Tower of Yesterday [14/?]

XXXVI

 

When the world slid back into focus, Steve was cuffed hand and foot to a surgical table, in a sterile white and gray operating room, windowless, lit by fluorescent lamps above.  Carefully, he tested his bonds, then tried yanking his weight to the side.  The table was bolted to the ground, and he only succeeded in abrading his wrists. 

 

His captors had confiscated his mail shirt and cowl, but had left him his pants and boots, less his boot knife and utility belt.  Steve felt his chest grow briefly tight – his _shield!_ – before mentally kicking himself and taking a deep breath.  Ok.  Stupidly enough he had somehow managed to be kidnapped without a fight, aboard a tanker ship that SHIELD had already swept for moles.  Right now he wasn’t sure what Fury would be more pissed off about.

 

A man with a surgical mask and a white doctor’s coat opened the door, looking in just quickly enough to see that he was awake, then disappearing again before Steve could say anything.  Steve grit his teeth and strained against the cuffs again, swearing under his breath as they refused to give. 

 

He’d failed both to ensure that Tony was safe _and_ guard the Armors.  By way of spectacular mission failures, this was probably the worst.  A cold, icy depression was settling over him, which he grimly forced aside.  Steve had to find a way to escape first, before he could face any form of consequences.

 

Armed soldiers filed into the room, a motley mix of _mujahideen_ and European.  It was with a sinking heart that Steve watched Baron Zemo and Colonel Brandt stride into the infirmary after their armed escort, conferring in indecipherable German, then Zemo gestured at Steve and folded his arms.

 

“Already recovered from the StarkTech embed,” Brandt said, and Steve flinched with a growl as the Colonel tapped at his previously injured knee.  “The serum is a most… incredible discovery.”

 

“I don’t know anything about the serum.”

 

“You don’t need to,” Brandt said dryly, as though speaking to a particularly stupid student.  “The formula is written into your blood.”

 

“If you know anything about the serum, then you know that I’ve been the only successful recipient.”

 

“Sometimes these things need different perspectives,” Brandt said, with an unpleasant smile.  “And different priorities.  You saw our cyborg, the late lamented prototype.  Unlike your SHIELD, we are not invested in a supersoldier product that retains its faculties.”

 

“Wasn’t this about the Armors?”

 

“We have different projects.  The Armors, the serum, these are just some of them.” Brandt walked over to the counter and medical cabinet, filling up a syringe with a colorless fluid from a bottle.  “We have had our eyes on both American assets for some time.”

 

Steve thought fast, trying to connect the dots.  “You were involved with the court-martial?”

 

“A little miscalculation there.  Perhaps we should have showed our hand more strongly from the start.  You would have been easier to pick up had you been a civilian, instead of a witness travelling constantly between two military bases and Reed Richard’s testament to paranoia.”

 

Steve snarled as Brandt curled long fingers around his neck, holding him down as he injected the sedative. “Don’t worry.  You won’t fall asleep again.  The Baron wishes to have a private… chat with you, before we put you into the harvesting machine.” Brandt’s lips curled, in a thin line of malice.  “Depending on the progress that our scientists make with the serum, you might even live for at least a year.”

 

“You won’t get away with this.”

 

“And you’ve watched far too many of your popular American movies.” Brandt retorted, patting him mockingly on the shoulder, then nodding respectfully at Zemo as he led the soldiers out of the room.

 

Steve wondered how the hell this was going to work.  “By the way, I don’t really understand German, so this interrogation is going to be somewhat futile.”

 

“I am aware of your shortcomings, Captain,” said the Baron in impeccable American English, his tone urbane, and slightly muffled by the hood, and his voice instantly, sickeningly, familiar.

 

“ _Robert?_ ”

 

“Indeed.” Jarvis folded his hands behind his back.  “Oh, don’t act so scandalized; you of all people know what the Baron Zemos are.  Robert Jarvis was – and is – one of the richest men in the world.”

 

“Obadiah was right,” Steve blinked dumbly, shocked despite the fact.  “He told me to be wary of you.  Was he selling Armors to you?”

 

“No.  But he had his suspicions that I was connected, in some form.  He will be dealt with in time.”

 

“When did they get to you… to Bert?”

 

“There was a car crash, one that killed his parents.  The sole survivor, the son, was placed in a nearby private hospital, one that the Wiking Jugend had some control over.”

 

That was _decades_ ago, when Bert was still a young man.  Stunned, Steve said, “So you’ve been… you’ve been lying to us all along! Why did you even bother to help Tony?” And _Arthur_ – Obadiah had tried to warn him about Arthur.  Steve could hit himself for being so skeptical of Obadiah’s motives the he didn’t even listen to a friendly warning.

 

“The Zemos have good cause to hate Tony Stark.” Zemo pointed out.  “It seemed a fitting vengeance for our disgrace before the Führer and subsequent banishment of our organization from the Reich, to use a pawn who could control Stark’s fortune and use it to destroy him and his name utterly.  As to why I protected Tony Stark – I need him alive long enough to contemplate his ruin.”

 

“You’re going to regret that.” Steve predicted.  Tony was highly intelligent and very resourceful-

 

“His death would be a phone call away, should it ever be necessary.”

 

 _Arthur_.  Of course.  “Tony might have drowned when you bombed the ship.”

 

“He had a flight-capable Armor and escaped, taking my agent with him.  I gather that they’re preparing a rescue team, which might make salvage… interesting.  Still, we have part of what we were after.”

 

“So why didn’t you act earlier?” Steve burst out.  “You were in control of Stark Industries for _decades_.  The Armors only started going missing recently.”

 

“Moving resources without triggering SHIELD’s considerable radar takes time and ingenuity.  Besides, we were waiting for a secret to come to light, one which would defeat any Armors massed against us - or better yet, turn them into ours.  Decades ago, one of our spies managed briefly to gain control of one of Tony Stark’s Armors.  He was stopped by a word.  There existed an override, one which only Stark had control over.”

 

“The world thought Tony was dead.”

 

“The Wiking Jugend believed that he was not – or in alternative, that he might have recorded the override somewhere.  With me in charge of all his possessions and notes, we were racing against time to either find the override or his last resting place in Norway.  Time being the death of this body.” Zemo pointed at himself.  “The Zemo formula had a specialized reaction, it made Robert Jarvis infertile.  Adopting a child was a possibility, but not a preferred one.  And then our teams made a discovery – a weak temperature pulse, deep within a glacier.  We began our work, stealing the first shipment of Armors, while anonymously placing a tip on SHIELD’s considerable intelligence engine and waiting for it to bear fruit.”

 

The existence of rogue Armors would make Tony use his override – and provide it to SHIELD and people he saw as his companions.  Steve’s modified iTouch had been in his belt.

 

Watching sick realization dawn on Steve, Zemo inclined his head mockingly, and strode for the door.  “We have our own stockpiled Armors, and the override will be cracked shortly.  After that, we march on Berlin.”

 

XXXVII

 

As ominous as it had sounded, the so-called harvesting machine was really just an upright restraining cell, with an adjoining glass cylinder filled with a familiar blue solution.  The security leak engineered by Jarvis-Zemo on SHIELD had to be fairly spectacular, Steve concluded, as he was strapped into the machine, IV drips connected to his right arm and a catheter to his left.  Other monitoring wires were inserted, and then Steve felt a familiar suspension as the blue solution filled the cylinder.  He’d be able to breathe in this, and it would help his body compensate for any injuries – allowing him to be bled for as long as possible.

 

Something in this particular solution made him sleepy as he breathed in, and out, and Steve fought it for a moment before his body took over, plunging him into a dreamless sleep.

 

It took effort, but Steve managed to force himself awake, now and then, before realizing it was pointless.  The sedative made him too languid to attempt to try and break from his restraints, and all he could ever see were milling scientists, testing samples of his blood.  Once Zemo and Brandt came by, but he was too sluggish even to attempt to communicate.

 

At least he had one thing to be grateful for – that they hadn’t attempted to make him the Zemo replacement.  Baron Zemo needed to be more than a supersoldier, apparently.  Besides, if Steve were to return on anything less than a rescue, there would probably be a lot of questions, and eventually Reed, Hank and Bruce would come up with some way to pick out Zemos from their hosts…

 

The hours and days blurred into one disconnected reality punctuated by the occasional burst of cognitive attempts against the sedative.  Possibly how a coma patient would feel like, Steve considered, watching a middle-aged female scientist cross around the cylinder, clipboard in hand.  Something in her stride, so self-confident, reminded Steve of Pepper, and he vaguely wondered if he could have loved Pepper, fierce independence and all.  He turned this novel thought over and over before concluding, dreamily, sedatives and all, that what drew him to Pepper was that she was a reflection of Tony, just as Jarvis was, just like the café near the Triskelion and the comics.

 

He was thirty and possibly about to die in obscurity in a Nazi bunker, bled slowly to death, and he had been in love precisely three times, and confessed only once.  Bucky had been uncomfortable with any sort of affectionate expression, even in private; they’d been too young, then, and vaguely aware that they might be doing something wrong, something not entirely socially acceptable. 

 

Sharon had been different, beautiful and confident and smart, one of the SHIELD agents and a favorite of Nick Fury.  A SHIELD attack on a known lair of Doctor Faustus had triggered a trap with hallucinogenic gas.  Whatever she saw as a result had stopped her heart, as it had for two of the other agents with her, the last one committed to a mental asylum, and Steve only learned about it a week later, post red tape, in a brief phone call out from Iraq. 

 

Steve recognized now that he’d been too cautious with Tony as a result, too protective.  That hadn’t ended well.  Tony was too independent, too used to having things done his way.  Trying to keep tabs on Tony had just ended up isolating him, and Steve swore to explain himself if he ever got out of this.  If Tony was still alive.  Pepper had the folder, Steve recalled, with some optimism.  Maybe Pepper would look into it all, alert Fury. 

 

After a while Steve could recognize all of the scientists that were working on his blood.  There were about eight regular staff, three women and five men, and some casual staff who were probably consultants.  When he had little else to think over, Steve watched their discussions and squabbles and wished that submersion didn’t mean that the sounds were distorted.  He couldn’t tell if they were any closer to cracking the riddle of his serum than Bruce or Hank.  It didn’t seem so, from the occasional petty displays of frustration from Black Forked Beard, who seemed to be the leader of the group.  That, at least, was reassuring.

 

He was watching Brunette Female argue with Gray Beard and Spectacles when Clint walked straight into the room as if he belonged there, dressed in a lab coat, his skin painted swarthy, his hair dyed a mousy brown and feathering over his eyes.  Clint was wearing one of his favorite alias faces, the one which Steve mentally termed ‘Sunburned Pakistani Shopkeeper’, with its narrow, shifty eyes and high eyebrows.

 

Sluggishly amazed, Steve stared blankly as Clint introduced himself to the scientists, spared him a brief, uninterested glance, and was taken around the room on a brief tour by Brown Beard. 

 

Steve forced himself to remain calm.  Help, it seemed, had arrived.

 

Instead of busting him out immediately, however, Clint seemed to slide into the routine, now and then manning a console or checking his life signs.  Steve wondered if he should attempt to signal Clint, and decided that he was better off letting Clint do whatever he needed to.  Maybe they were waiting for a distraction.

 

On the third time he awoke, however, Steve was beginning to harbor doubts.  Maybe Clint was the mole, the weak point in SHIELD’s intelligence defense.  Thinking about it made him angry, and then he was surprised that he _could_ get so instantly, sharply angry, at which point he realized that there was no longer any sedative in the blue solution.

 

He dared a glance at Clint with his peripheral vision, and realized that the fellow Avenger was looking expectant.  Steve nodded, and Clint stood up, as if to reach for a coffee cup that he had left on the edge of the desk, only to slip and land heavily against the keyboard.

 

The clasps around his wrists and ankles receded, and Steve rolled out the kinks in his shoulder, glad that the solution prevented cramping.  Bracing his shoulders against the glass, he kicked as hard as he could. 

 

Shouts and screams – the scientists were making a break for the door.  Steve ignored them, stumbling only briefly as he picked his way carefully out from the glass cylinder, trying to avoid the worst of the shards, looking for cover.  Clint had already upturned one of the tables, crouching behind it, and he tossed Steve a silencer pistol.

 

They made short work of the guards who initially poured into the room, and then the alarm began to peal, as Clint grinned at Steve and shook his hand roughly.

 

“Consider us even,” Steve croaked, and then cleared his throat.  “I’ve never been so happy to see a SHIELD agent in my life.”

 

“The whitecoats have your stuff in the side room,” Clint gestured at an adjoining steel door.  “Suit up.  I’ll hold the door until you do.  Then we’ll bust out of here.”

 

“The serum-”

 

“I’ve already gotten what SHIELD wanted, and corrupted the rest.  In case you were wondering why I took so long to get you out.”

 

Steve hadn’t thought of that, but he smiled anyway in relief and squeezed Clint’s shoulder.  Another thought struck him.  “Tony, he’s not safe, the man with him-”

 

“Get dressed, Cap.  We’re getting out of this dump first.  Debrief later.”

 

XXXVIII

 

It was a long, bloody slog up the levels towards the hangar for extraction, and apparently the pressure wouldn’t be as bad as it was, according to the snide running commentary from his rescuer-companion.  SHIELD had come up with a distraction on the northern part of the fortified Somalian base, and Natasha would be waiting for them at the hangar. 

 

“What about Tony?” Steve asked, as they caught a breather on the second basement, waiting for the acrid smoke from grenades to clear. 

 

“Stark’s in Berlin.  He’s assumed charge of the Avengers in your absence.”  There was something of a scowl in Clint’s mouth, but not quite.  “I gather he’s been fairly effective, and Thor was willing to work with him, which is always a plus.  Natasha doesn’t like him, though.”

 

“Natasha doesn’t like a lot of people.” Steve said, relieved.  “What about Arthur?”

 

“That one’s a good story.  I’ll tell you when we’re out.” Clint fired a short burst from his semi-automatic down the corridor, and smiled faintly at the gurgled scream.  “Let’s move.”

 

“So Berlin is already under attack.”

 

“Yeah.  Big fiasco.  They’ve taken over about a quarter of the city, surprise attack.  Avengers are assisting SHIELD.” Another _mujahideen_ dropped, and Steve started forward, only for Clint to grab his shoulder quickly.  “Proximity mine.  Wait.” Clint fired a shot from his pistol, and Steve winced at the explosion.  “Bloody amateurs.  Who the hell puts a proximity mine in the goddamn _open_?  I’m missing a promising dustup in Berlin for _this?_ ”

 

“Thanks for the rescue,” Steve said dryly, hurling his shield into the next sortie of _mujahideen_ who thundered down almost on top of them from the emergency stairwell.  This one, according to Clint, would lead straight up into the hangar.

 

“Don’t mention it.  In fact, if ‘Arthur’ hadn’t shot you in the back I don’t think you’d have gotten caught in the first place,” Clint said, magnanimous now that they were in the stairwell and heading briskly up towards the hangar.  Steve could hear sporadic gunfire, echoing down towards them, and he didn’t need Clint’s urging to pick up the pace.

 

They burst out into the hangar, instinctively darting for the closest cover, a box of crates stamped with Mexican postmarks.  Expecting gunfire, Steve glanced up cautiously when silence met them instead.

 

Natasha was turning Brandt’s body delicately with the toe of her combat boot, then she bent, checking for a pulse.  “Dead,” she told Clint, a little regretfully, as he got up a little sheepishly from behind the crates. 

 

“Damn.  Fury wanted to talk to him.”

 

“Cyanide pill.” Natasha said, looking disgusted.  “Once you know his trick he is easy.  I shot him in the legs and asked him to give up.  So old fashioned.  _Mudak_.”

 

“Watch that mouth, young lady.” Clint said absently, rifling through Brandt’s pockets and quickly keeping what he could find.

 

Natasha turned to Steve instead, solemnly shaking his hand.  “Status?”

 

“Fly me to Berlin,” Steve answered, squeezing her hand quickly.  “Thanks for the extraction.”  Outside the hangar, in the stark sunlight, a SHIELD helicopter was landing warily. 

 

“It is good to see that you are well,” Natasha allowed, as they jogged towards the helicopter.  “Now you are back, I do not have to deal with Stark.”

 

“He’s not that bad,” Steve tried, but Natasha muttered something darkly in Russian and climbed lithely up into the helicopter.

 

As the ground fell away, Steve breathed out loudly, rubbing his palms over his eyes and fighting the urge to pinch himself.  He was alive.  He was _free_.  Glass pressed against the back of his palm, and Steve looked up to see Natasha wordlessly handing him a small flask of what smelled like brandy.

 

“No, I’m fine.  Thanks.” Steve said, looking down at the base, ignoring how Clint took the brandy from Natasha, raising it greedily to his mouth.  “Just get me to Berlin.  Somebody give me a phone, please.  And then tell me what the hell happened when I was out.”


	15. [fic] The Tower of Yesterday [15/16]

XXXIX

 

The Bendlerblock had been transformed into a base of operations for NATO, and was a flurry of military activity.  Makeshift watchtowers and a barbwire proximity fence were new, as were the APCs and Armors squeezed into the courtyard.  Part of Berlin had been visibly burning on the flight to the Bendlerblock, and Steve had studied the blockade around the Steglitz-Zehlendorf borough in angry silence.

 

Thronging refugees and car-packed streets made urban fighting a nightmare.  The hijacked override had turned German Armors against each other, fuelling widespread panic, and the first skirmishes against conventional, non-Armor NATO weapons like tanks and helicopters had proved disastrous.  NATO forces, SHIELD and the Avengers led the vanguard at present, and they were only slowly gaining ground.

 

Pushing past the bustle and offering monosyllabic responses to the delighted exclamations from soldiers who recognized him, Steve made a beeline for the sleek, silver and black Armor that stood with its back to him, scanning the skies, his heart in his mouth, a thousand things on his mind, a thousand more on the tip of his tongue. 

 

Despite it all, Steve managed only a slightly choked “Hey,” as he put his hand on the Armor’s shoulder.

 

The Armor turned around with a sharp grace that was all out of sorts of Steve’s memories of the Stark Industries versions, its visor down, only a blue glow visible behind the eye slits, and then it said, in a mechanized voice, “Oh… oh! I know you, you’re Captain America!”

 

This took Steve by surprise.  “Sorry?”

 

The visor opened up to show a feminine face, dark-skinned and wide-eyed.  The pilot couldn’t be older than Jan, and she threw a smart salute worthy of a parade ground, even in an Armor.  “Staff Sergeant Jennifer Rhodes, USAF.  It’s a real honor to meet you, Captain.”

 

“Tony’s making _Armor_?” This startled Steve even more than the unexpected reveal.  Beside him, Clint was huffing as he caught up, and he grinned, wickedly amused.

 

“Fury’s been on his back to make new Armors since Stark claimed that he couldn’t remove the override from the older versions.  He refused, Fury threatened to throw him into Gitmo, and the Sergeant here’s the compromise.”

 

“It’s the War Machine,” Jennifer said proudly, banging a fist carefully against the blue glow of the miniature arc reactor embedded in the center of the silver chestplate.  “It’s what Mister Stark used to call my grandfather’s Armors.  If you’re looking for Mister Stark, he’s in the inner courtyard of the Memorial arguing with Fury.  And can I say, sir, that I’m so glad that reports of your death were greatly mistaken.”

 

“It’s great meeting you, Sergeant.  Maybe we can catch up later,” Steve said, trying and failing to hide his impatience to find Tony, and Jennifer grinned at him even as the visor slid back down.

 

“I was waiting for Mister Stark to do an aerial sweep, but I guess he’s going to be detained,” War Machine’s mechanized voice somehow managed to sound amused.  “Tell him I’ll pick up his slack just this once.”

 

“Sure,” Steve stepped back as with a roar of boot jets the War Machine Armor shot up into the sky, doing a joyous, impossibly steep loop into the wispy clouds before speeding away southwards.  

 

Jan let out an ear-piercing squeal once she spotted him from the entrance to the inner courtyard, and Peter jumped onto his back, hugging him tightly around his neck.  Stumbling awkwardly, trying to stop Jan from popping his ribs, Steve solemnly shook Luke’s hand, then Hank’s, and looked past Jan’s husband to the spreading crowns of the trimmed trees near the back of the inner courtyard.

 

Under the trees was Pepper in a wheelchair, offering him a brief wave, her grin wide and toothy.  Beside her, Fury planted his fists on his hips, trying and failing to keep his stern scowl on his lips.  And then there was Tony, decked in red and gold, staring blankly at him, wide-eyed, mouth open in sheer shock, his helmet dropping from nerveless fingers to thump heavily on the ground beside Fury’s boot. 

 

“I’m a little late,” Steve opted for deadpan, trying to pry Peter’s arms off his neck as he approached them.

 

Tony seemed to start out of his trance at the sound of his voice, and he whirled on Fury, reddening in anger.  “You didn’t _tell_ me that you _found_ him!”

 

“For your information-”

 

“Oh, fuck your attitude,” Tony snarled, gauntleted hands curling tight.

 

“Tony,” Pepper cut in calmly.  “Steve’s here.  You can save the tantrum until later.”

 

Tony glared at her, then groaned and looked up into the sky for patience, before taking a deep breath.  “You know I hate it when you’re being mature.”

 

“I needed you here in Berlin,” Fury pointed out, though he had edged out of immediate punching range.  “I hate to admit it, but thanks mostly to you we managed to take back Spandau.  Besides, subtlety was needed.”

 

Tony’s lip curled, and he took a step forward, but Steve quickly shrugged Jan and Peter off and grabbed Tony’s wrist.  The Armor seemed to have a faint pulse, some sort of barely perceptible vibration that was almost organic.  Trying to break the tension, Steve said, “Miss Potts, I hear you apprehended a dangerous spy.”

 

“She whacked Arthur with her purse and knocked him out, he’s now in SHIELD custody,” Jan agreed brightly.  “I don’t think he expected that.”

 

“And then she threw her back,” Tony said dryly, grinning, though the anger remained banked in narrow eyes.  “And she’s been lording it over everyone ever since.  You should have heard what she said to your friend, Major Barnes, when he suggested that a war zone was no place for the elderly.”

 

“You’re ungrateful,” Pepper informed Tony.  “I broke at least two traffic rules driving to your place after I verified the folder that the Captain left with me with my sources, and now you just stand around harping about my age.”

 

“You could have just told Fury to take care of it.” Tony pointed out, but it was clear from his tone that this was an old argument.

 

“The Director’s a nice young man,” Pepper said, and behind her, Nick’s eyebrows rose, “But I thought it’d take too long to explain, so I decided to take matters into my own hands.  Ingrate.  Captain, it’s lovely to see that you’re alive.  Perhaps we should have dinner again sometime.”

 

“Of course.  And thank you for looking after Tony.” Steve shook Pepper’s hand firmly, ignoring how Tony was rolling his eyes, even as Jan scooted up behind the wheelchair to get a hold of the handles. 

 

“You should learn from him,” Pepper informed Tony primly, then turned to glance behind her at Fury when he opened his mouth.  “Debriefing can wait for later, Director.  I’m sure they have a bit of catching up to do.”

 

Fury scowled at her, then at Steve, for a long moment, then he sighed when Clint shrugged and started for the archway.  Jan winked at him as she pushed Pepper after Clint, and Peter waved, climbing up the nearest wall and up over to the roof, and then they were alone, standing awkwardly under the spreading branches, sunlight mottling specks over Tony’s Armor. 

 

“So,” they both said, at the same time, then Steve cleared his throat and Tony chuckled.

 

“You first,” he said.

 

“I met Jennifer Rhodes outside, she told me to tell you that she’ll do the sweep herself today.  She seemed psyched.”

 

“Excited? Yes.  Foolhardy? Just like her grandfather in one of these things.” Tony seemed pleased.  “Jenny’s great, a great girl.  Rhodey would have been proud.  I won’t trust my Armors with just anyone.”

 

“So I hear.  You didn’t try and fix the override in the old Armors.”

 

Tony smiled, all artful innocence, then he scowled again and glared after the archway.  “Just as well.  Bloody _Fury_.  I can’t _believe_ he didn’t tell me.”

 

“You’re doing good here,” Steve pointed out.  “Berlin’s a mess.”

 

“Still,” Tony stared at him, hard, then he set his jaw, “ _I_ would have-” Steve kissed him to cut off the retort, slow, rubbing his thumbs gently over Tony’s cheeks and not caring if anyone saw them from the overlooking windows or the archway.  Tony made an inarticulate sound and clenched gauntleted fingers on his shoulders, tight enough to bruise, biting as he kissed back with a low moan, until Steve was shaking as he pulled back for breath.  “Okay.  Okay.  Let’s not argue right now.”

 

“Great. I concur.”

 

“Also, you might be pleased to know that the court-martial returned the verdict of guilty.”

 

“That’s good.” Justice was done, at least, and with even minimal interference from his part.  “Did the Administration overturn that DADT ruling?”

 

“Nope.  I gather the Log Cabin Republicans suddenly became extremely well funded.” Tony said innocently.  “And it turns out that Stark Industries had a few senators up its sleeve, and the repeal will come up again in the next Senate session.  I decided to talk to Obadiah, after Arthur,” he added, at Steve’s arched eyebrow.  “I needed help and I thought maybe he might know where to find you, since he’d been trying to work against Jarvis… against _Zemo_ for so long.  I don’t trust him, but we have an understanding.”

 

“Oh.” Steve said, surprised that Tony would have even bothered to cash in his favors with Obadiah in that way.  “About Zemo-”

 

“Fury’s dying to debrief you at length on that situation, so I’ll leave it to him.” Tony was fumbling at his neck, until he muttered a curse and tugged off a leather thong, emptying a pale blue metal ring onto Steve’s palm.  “This is probably sudden, but I thought you were _dead_ or worse, and life’s helluva too short, so I told myself that if you ever, by some miracle, came back… it’s not in a box, because I can’t fit that into any easily removed sections of the Armor… and it’s an inert version of the metal alloy that makes up my arc reactor.  I know, it’s lame-”

 

“Tony,” Steve interrupted, his voice cracked along the edges, and he took another breath to steady it, “Tony, I’m not sure what to say.”

 

“Just keep it first,” Tony said, his eyes wide and dark and haunted, “It doesn’t have to mean anything more if you don’t want it to, I want you to have it.”

 

“You’re proposing,” Steve said slowly, then he smiled and wrapped an arm tight around Tony’s armored waist and leaned in for a kiss, then another, deeper and slower until Tony’s hunted expression was gone and his eyes were half-lidded, with some of his old amusement.

 

“Was that a yes?”

 

“Definitely a yes.”

 

“Apparently it’s not technically legal in Germany yet, they have some fiddly thing called ‘registration’ instead, so we’ll have to try Canada.  Or maybe Massachusetts.” Tony curled metal fingers carefully around the nape of his neck for the next kiss, and when they parted reluctantly, just enough for air, between their lips Steve breathed in, ragged and shallow, and out.

 

XL

 

Steve stood on a NATO tank, his elbow balanced against the turret, watching as the mixed bag of soldiers toiled to convert the defensive perimeter.  They had taken back Steglitz and were gaining ground into Lichterfelde.  Reports indicated that Zemo had occupied the _Hauptkadettenanstalt_ himself, and all the previously decommissioned barracks had been re-converted.  Militarized, even Steglitz itself was unrecognizable – Steve had been here once on holiday with Sharon, and where the spot where they’d taken pictures before the Town Hall and the café they’d had lunch at afterwards were smoking craters. 

 

Other than the occasional rogue Armor attacks, Steve had never had to war in an area that was this populated, and it was a nightmare.  Some civilians had refused to evacuate, even standing sullenly in their homes and watching them with haunted eyes, or panicked and ran into lines of fire, or screamed and threw things at them from the windows when asked to leave.  Fury was forcing people to evacuate into the outer suburbs, but it was slow going, and splitting up forces to try and handle shell-shocked civilians, looters and the injured was difficult.

 

Winkling Zemo out of wherever he was hiding with minimum casualties was going to be tough, and Steve could vaguely see why Tony had flat out refused to even attempt to install anti-overrides on their own troops; the casualties from the embeds and spiels from the Wiking Jugend Armors were bad enough, let alone what would occur during an all out battle between two lines of opposing Armors.

 

“Hey.” Luke knocked the back of his hand sharply against the armored hulk of the tank.  “Fury wants to have a talk.”

 

Steve nodded, dropping nimbly down onto cracked tarmac.  “What about?”

 

“Don’t ask me, I’m just the invulnerable civilian,” Luke groused, as they picked past APCs and nervous soldiers.  “Jessica’s been threatening to fly down.” 

 

“She can’t, it’s a war zone.”

 

“Yeah? Tell that to her.”

 

“I will, if you want.” Steve volunteered.  He’d always gotten on pretty well with Jessica.  Luke shot him a long, considering look, then he snorted as he walked around a corner, turning down the street towards the big khaki tent erected up ahead on the center. 

 

“Yeah, you do that.  Tell her I’m in the least danger of everyone here from being blown into bits.  You’re back, and we’re all fine again, I don’t have to keep stepping in to prevent Natasha from wringing Tony’s neck.”

 

“What did he say to her?”

 

“Don’t know.  He just rubbed her the wrong way, I suppose.” Luke was eyeing him thoughtfully again, as though there was something he wanted to say that he wasn’t sure that Steve wanted to hear.

 

“You can tell me, Luke.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Luke said, a little embarrassed, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Tony hits on women.  I think it’s on automatic, or maybe it’s just the way it was a long time before, before he got frozen.  Jan and Jessica think it’s just funny, they know he don’t mean anything by it.  Natasha got annoyed.”

 

“But she gets hit on all the time.” Natasha was _gorgeous_.

 

“Yeah? Guess maybe she just didn’t like it this time.” Luke shrugged.  “You don’t seem worried.”

 

“Nope.” Steve could feel the metal ring, warm and hard against his chest on a chain with his dog tags.  “Not at all.”

 

Fury was glaring at a projected map of Lichterfelde, his hands folded behind his back, and seated on makeshift chairs of scrounged desks and crates were the Avengers, even Thor, nearest to the exit, who gave him a grave nod, less Tony and Jenny. 

 

“Take a seat,” Fury waved at the crates, “And before you ask, those two are doing circuits above the Lichterfelde.  Without permission, I might add, so if they get shot down by SAMs it’ll be their own damn fault.”

 

“Even Jenny?” Steve asked, surprised.  Rhodey’s granddaughter was USAF, after all.

 

“Something about promising her grandfather over his grave to keep Tony alive, I don’t know,” Fury scowled.  “At least she’s being useful and sending us back troop patterns from overhead scans.  Comm chatter indicates that Zemo’s preparing to retreat into Zehlendorf, so Lichterfelde becomes a nice, big trap.  It’ll be like bloody Wilmersdorf all over again, civilian cordons and land mines.”

 

“We need to intercept Zemo if he’s moving.”

 

“Leave that to SHIELD.  We have another problem,” Fury said, pointing a sleek controller at the projected map, and changing it into a map of the U-Bahn.  “They’re planning a strike up into Mitte, through the U3.”

 

“Enclosed spaces?” Clint frowned.  “That’s not good for them.  The Armors make a lot of friendly fire.  And they’ve tried that before, along the U7, we blocked them off.” 

 

“The line isn’t entirely underground, that doesn’t make sense.” Steve said thoughtfully. 

 

“Comm chatter mentioned a direct route into the center.  That’s U3.” Fury tapped at the screen.  “We’re going to meet them at strategic points.  Collapsing the tunnel is a last resort.  Maybe it’s just going to be a distraction, and the real focus is Zemo moving locations, maybe not.”

 

“Captain, Director,” Jenny’s voice crackled a little with static, but came in loud and clear through the comm link.  “Major troop movement with Armors heading west.  Looks like Zemo’s on the move.  Saw him getting into an Armor.”

 

“Oh, for bloody… sit tight, Sergeant, do _not_ engage,” Fury was striding for the tent flap. 

 

“Roger that, but Tony’s already engaging,” Jenny pointed out, the whine of a missile passing close making Steve flinch. “He’s also turned off external comm links,” she added, helpfully. 

 

“What the fuck, does Stark think he’s bloody invulnerable in that tin can? Then provide assist, Sergeant… where do _you_ think you’re going?” Fury scowled as Steve rolled to his feet.

 

“Thor and I are going.” Steve said firmly. 

 

“SHIELD didn’t stage a rescue for you to go on into your death.  Thor goes if he wants, like we’ve ever been able to bloody stop a God from doing what the hell he wants.  You’re going to lead the strike force.  We’ve got a distraction now, so we might as well use it to take back some ground, at least take back the residential districts so we can free some civilians.  Luke, Jan and Peter go with you.  Clint, Natasha, you’re with Echo team.”

 

“I will keep them safe,” Thor rumbled, in a voice like the summer storms, and Steve had to reluctantly concede.

 

“All right.” Steve watched as Thor rose into the air, a sick feeling curling in his gut, then he took a deep breath and headed for his unit, even as the encampment flared into high alert around them.

 

XLI

 

Morale high, the NATO strike team broke through the defensive barricade and stormed the boroughs, pushing the Wiking Jugend back, block by block, until it was a rout for the fortified bases.  Zemo had taken most of the Armors with him in his attempt to retreat to the next borough, and the bulwark was left poorly defended.  His vibranium shield managed to make short work of most of the Armors that turned to face them, but sniper fire from overlooking high rises made it slow going for the main force.

 

When they were finally within sight of the _Hauptkadettenanstalt_ , it was to a sky darkened with thunderclouds, lightning forking through retreating ranks of enemy combatants. 

 

Steve headed for the two sleek Armors watching the retreat.  War Machine stood quickly at attention once Jenny saw his approach, but Tony waved wearily from where he was leaning against a battered wall.

 

“Steve.” The red and gold Armor had seen better days, dented and blackened from soot, and Tony seemed to be surreptitiously favoring his right side.

 

“Why did you attack by yourself?” Steve demanded.  “And how the hell did you do that?”

 

Tony’s helmed face swiveled briefly to regard the neat rows of silent Armors, some still intact, others looking as though they had imploded violently.  “There’s more than one override.  I just couldn’t use this one as long as there was a chance of any other non-enemy Armors around.”

 

“You mean as long as there was SHIELD around.” Steve said dryly, turning briefly to address the unit.  “Secure the perimeter.”

 

“That too.” Tony admitted.  “I don’t want anyone getting their hands on a self-destruct override.  I didn’t want to use it, but when I saw Zemo getting into an Armor, it was too tempting, I gave in.” A deep breath rattled in the electronic modulation.  “Killed all of those men.”

 

“You’re lucky you didn’t get blown up.” Steve muttered, looking at the number of Armors before them.  “And you did what you had to do.”

 

“Electromagnetic shielding, and then Thor showed up.” Tony shrugged, then winced, as though that had been painful.  “Maybe I should have been insulted that they found the God of Thunder more interesting to shoot at.  At least until I got in close and the override began to chain.”

 

“It was a close thing,” Jenny cut in.  “I’m all out of ammo.”

 

“So Zemo is dead.”

 

“Yeah.” The voice modulation made it impossible to read pain, or any sense of triumph, only a flat, dead certainty.  “Jenny, you’re going to have to support this old man back up north. I feel like getting drunk.”

 

“Tony…”

 

“Leave it.” Tony said, as Jenny pulled one of his arms over her shoulders.  “There’re still civilians to save.  Go make their world a little brighter.”

 

“That was low,” Steve muttered.

 

“I know, I know.  But I have about an hour before Fury finishes strutting around the Lichterfelde, to get roaring drunk.  Then I’m going to throw up on his shoes,” Tony decided, “After which I want to go home and sleep for a week.  Preferably with you.”

 

“For an entire week?” Steve blinked, feeling a blush creep up his neck.

 

“I guess we could stop and eat at some points.”

 

“I don’t want to listen to this, you were my grandpa’s best friend,” Jenny told Tony, her visor sliding up as she made a face.  “God, it’s worse than imagining your parents sleeping together.”

 

“But your parents did a great job on that part,” Tony retorted, “Otherwise there wouldn’t have been anyone around to fly my spare suit.”

 

Steve coughed, now bright red.  “ _Tony_.”

 

“You’re disgusting, I don’t know why I like you,” Jenny shifted Tony into a better position.  “Let’s fly you out of here so you can wallow in your vices, old man.”

 

“Now you just bloody sound like Pepper.”


	16. [fic] The Tower of Yesterday [16/16]

AN END, A BEGINNING

 

ASSOCIATED PRESS (Berlin) – NATO forces have retaken Steglitz-Zelendorf, concluding a month-long battle against neo-Nazi terrorists in Berlin. 

 

Details on the breaking point of Operation Firesign on Wednesday are still coming to light, but it is known that NATO forces, assisted by SHIELD and the Avengers, managed to destroy all of the Wiking Jugend Armors in Lichtenfelde.  Preliminary reports indicate that Thor of the Avengers had a key role in the destruction due to his command of a lightning storm, one which could not have prevailed until all the Armors were in one place,

 

Freed by SHIELD operatives from his capture in Somalia earlier this week, Captain America of the Avengers led the charge into Lichtenfelde, breaking the blockade and retaking the borough.  “We wouldn’t have managed it without the distraction from Thor, Tony and War Machine,” the Captain said when questioned.  “And we wouldn’t have succeeded if everyone hadn’t worked together.”  When asked whether the Avengers would remain in Berlin to help the reconstruction effort, the Captain replied, “Berlin needs to be rebuilt by its citizens.  We’ll stay for as long as we’re needed, but the Wiking Jugend occupation is over.  It’s up to the German people now.”

 

Industrialist, inventor and famous adventurer Tony Stark shared Captain America’s view, already preparing to return to New York.  Stark had briefly assumed leadership of the Avengers in Captain America’s absence, and was integral to the fight against the Wiking Jugend.  Having sustained cracked ribs and a fractured leg during Operation Firesign, Stark was treated at the Charité in Mitte until he was discharged earlier today.  When asked about whether the Berlin Occupation has changed the world’s opinion of the Armors, Stark remained non-committal.  “Guns are used by people everyday, and they kill people.  It’s still protected by the Constitution, so I’ve been told.”  Asked if his red and gold Armor would be going into production, Stark was empathic.  “No, absolutely not.”  

 

Stark Industries released a press statement today expressing the company’s condolences for the victims of the Occupation and a resolution to work with NATO toward proper applied use of the Armors.  “The existence of a primary override was unexpected, and unforgivable,” CEO Obadiah Stane told the press this morning in Washington D.C. “We are working with the United States Government and with the UN to ensure that the security vulnerability in our Armors is fixed as soon as possible.” When asked if Tony Stark would be integral to removing the override, Stane remained optimistic.  “We hope that Mister Stark will come back into the fold, of course.  This company was founded by his father.  The Armors are his family’s legacy.  But the matter remains up to Mister Stark.”

 

Until then, the Armors will remain silent, even in Afghanistan… [article cont’d in Page 4]

 

“AN UNFAIR LAW” – CAPTAIN AMERICA SPEAKS OUT

 

Manhattan (CNN) – Full Transcript – GOOD MORNING, and thank you all for being here.  I was told… I was told that this wasn’t exactly the best place to make a speech about civil rights, but the Mall was booked today and it takes time to get a permit.  [Laughter] I’m here to speak on behalf of the Log Cabin Republicans, and their fight to repeal Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.  As you all know, DADT is coming up in a Senate session tomorrow, and there hasn’t been that much hope that it won’t turn out just like the last time, where the fight to repeal lost on a narrow margin.

 

So Clarke… that’s Clarke Cooper of the LCR, Clarke asked me whether I could give them my support.  And I told Clarke, well, I don’t have any money… [Laughter] … yeah, I really don’t, I don’t know why you guys think I own this place. [Laughter] So Clarke tells me it’s not about the money, and that Captain America’s word is worth more than all the gold bullion in the United States, even if I was crazy for voting Democrat this year [Laughter] and I said yes, because it seems that even Captain America can be flattered [cheers from members of the Avengers].  

 

My parents were immigrants from Ireland, and I was born and raised in New York.  I’ve wanted more than anything to be in the Army, to serve my country, but I was born with a strain of hyperthyroidism that meant that I wasn’t fit for active duty.  So I signed up for SHIELD testing of the super soldier serum, instead, and I won’t go further into details as the rest is pretty well known.  I took up the mantle and the shield, and I’ve been on tours in Iraq and Afghanistan.  I have had the privilege of being awarded six Purple Hearts, two Bronze Stars and a Medal of Honor. 

 

A few months ago I had to attend a court-martial as a witness to American soldiers whom I had caught executing Iraqi citizens.  You’ve heard that I punched a couple of them through a wall, and put all of them into hospital.  I won’t defend my actions; whether they were right or over the top, that’s up to the Tribunal to decide.  I’ll just say that I walked in on those soldiers as they were holding a couple of civilians at gunpoint while they were raping the civilians’ sister, and when I demanded to know what they were doing they killed them… three civilians.  Right before me.  I lost my temper.  Maybe I shouldn’t have.  The serum makes me stronger than a normal human, and I hear the sergeant won’t ever be able to walk straight-backed again... some nights I wake up wondering why they did it when I was right there.  Surely they would've known how I would react... but that's... that’s up to the Tribunals now, and it’s not what I’m here to discuss. 

 

What I want to say is that just before the court-martial the SHIELD office in Washington received a typewritten note.  I’m not at liberty to disclose the exact text, but it was a threat.  If I didn’t withdraw from the court-martial as a witness, whoever it was would tell the world that I liked men just as much as I liked women. [gasps] Now back when I got the note, Judge Phillips hadn’t issued her ruling, so it was a… it wasn’t an empty threat.  I could hold on to my principles and get drummed out of the Army as a consequence, or I could do what they wanted so that I could keep serving my country.

 

It was lucky for me that Phillips made her order shortly afterwards, so nothing came of it, but it hasn’t been so easy for everyone else trying to live under the radar.  People who love people of their own gender, or people for whom gender isn’t an issue.  These people are already soldiers, already serving their country.  We lay down our lives for all of you, every day.  It’s what we do, and I find it unfair that while we’re expected – and we won’t begrudge – having to die for our country if it becomes necessary, it’s unfair that we can’t live and love the way we want and keep serving our country.  [clapping and cheers from the Avengers and the LCR]

 

It’s unfair that it’s a big enough threat that it can be used against me to go against what I think is right.  It’s unfair that because such a policy exists, servicemen and women can and are being abused everyday under threat of disclosure and discharge by people who should be supporting them, shoulder to shoulder.  And it’s unfair that such a law can continue to exist in a time where a majority of the public thinks also that it should be repealed.

 

The deck’s been stacked against us now.  The Republicans are back in control of the Senate and the House.  DADT is coming up for the repeal but the word on the street is that it won’t get repealed, that the Administration will be under renewed pressure to get the order overturned.  I’m asking you, asking everyone to do their part to get the repeal.  Call your senator.  Get the word out.  Demonstrate on the Mall, keep in touch with the LCR about their organizational activities.  This isn’t about being a Democrat, or a Republican, or an Independent.  It’s about doing what’s right.

 

Thank you for listening.  God bless America.

 

Epilogue

 

Tony woke up fuzzily to a big warm hand stroking up his hip, and he grabbed for it instinctively even as he reached out of habit for the gun under his pillow that wasn’t there.  Steve grinned at him, dusty and still dressed in costume, his pack propped by the door with his shield.  “Hey.”

 

“Weren’t you only flying in from Afghanistan tomorrow?” Tony sat up sharply, blinking away sleep.

 

“I managed to wheedle my way onto an earlier flight?”

 

“You should have told me.  I’ll have gone down to meet you.”

 

“Wanted to surprise you,” Steve confessed, leaning in for his kiss, chapped lips and sun-baked skin, thick fingers curling possessively around Tony’s neck.

 

“Consider me surprised,” Tony said breathlessly, “Particularly since there’s a security lock on this place.”

 

“Pepper told me the access codes.” Steve was pressing him down on the bed, in a warm comforting weight.  “Nice place.  New house?”

 

“Yeah.” The cliffside purchase had been from a friend of Pepper’s who was moving interstate, and even had a big garage that could be outfitted into a decent laboratory.  “Needed some space.  Living in the Baxter is nice and all, but I think the explosions and accidents were getting on Sue’s nerves.”

 

“It’s a big house,” Steve decided, pulling off his gloves deliberately slowly, and grinning when Tony pressed his knees to either side of narrow hips.  “And it looks like someone nicked all my stuff from the Triskelion and stacked it into the spare room.”

 

“That was not in fact my doing.” Tony pointed out, pulling off his shirt, swallowing a gasp as big hands stroked up his belly to the metal dome over his heart.  He loved Steve’s hands, always so quick and attentive and strong, the thumbs flicking up over his nipples and the pads of fingers rubbing lovingly over his ribs as lips descended over his neck and sucked hard to leave a mark.  Tony growled, pulling insistently at the mail shirt until Steve laughed and took it off, and then he allowed Tony to roll them both over.

 

It was going to take too long to get Steve’s boots and pants off, Tony decided, as he slipped out of track pants and set his teeth on pebbling nipples until Steve was gasping and squirming under him, fingers curled in his hair and clenching over his shoulders.  “Take off your own belt,” Tony instructed, batting Steve’s hand away from his cock and reaching instead for the bedside table.  He had to slap Steve’s hand again when he found the condom and the lube, then Tony sighed in mock frustration and grabbed both his wrists.  “I’m going to end up tying you to the bed at this rate.  With your belt,” Tony added, when Steve’s eyes widened.

 

“Do it,” Steve challenged, and a minute later played at tugging experimentally at the leather as he was bound to the bedpost.  Muscles bunched tight, and Tony’s mouth watered, making him take an audible swallow.

 

“You’re gorgeous.”

 

“I’ve heard that from you,” Steve teased, though his eyes seemed to be glued on Tony’s erection, pressed full and flushed against the hard planes of Steve’s stomach.  “Tony, I want-”

 

“Yeah,” Tony said hoarsely, drunk on lust and the sinfully striking body he was straddling.  “Let a man do some appreciating.”

 

Steve made an impatient noise and rolled his hips up, rubbing the bulge in his pants pointedly against Tony’s ass.  “Later, please?”

 

“Young people nowadays,” Tony said, in mock rebuke, though he obliged, slicking himself up with fingers that were beginning to tremble, then freeing Steve’s nice, thick cock from his pants and admiring it, rubbing a thumb up under the fleshy head and grinning as Steve writhed and whimpered.  Shifting back, Tony lapped the wet bead of come forming on the tip, ignoring how Steve’s voice cracked, reaching into his pants to cup and fondle his balls and rub his forefinger against the sensitive skin just behind, laughing at the abortive buck and the gasp.

 

“Tony, please, Tony,” Steve said breathlessly, “C’mon.” Tony sucked in the tip of Steve’s cock, and his lover’s voice pitched higher, the bed creaking ominously as he jerked in his bonds.  “ _Tony_.”

 

“All right,” Tony pulled back reluctantly, “The furniture is new, don’t break it.” Steve scowled at him as Tony took his time rolling the condom onto swollen flesh, then he was moaning and trying his best to keep still as Tony pressed the blunt head against his hole and pushed down carefully.

 

It hurt – taking Steve like this always hurt – but _watching_ Steve made it worth it, worth the pain of the too thick flesh pressing up into him, barely prepared, the knowledge that he wasn’t going to walk properly for at least a day afterwards.  Steve’s handsome face was slack with lust and adoration, his blue eyes glazed and unfocused, and he made the most incredibly _hot_ dry, harsh gasps, like he was dredging for words but couldn’t speak, couldn’t _think_. 

 

Once seated, Tony waited, trying to relax, his knees spread on the sheets and his palms pressed over Steve’s shoulders, breathing in, out, as Steve whined and bit his lip to keep still, shuddering and arching when Tony leaned down and licked into his mouth, then nuzzled down over the dog tags and the ring on the chain. 

 

Soon they were rocking together, slow, Tony ignoring Steve’s insistent bucks and the whines against his mouth, until Steve said, thickly, “Tony, if you don’t free my hands I’m going to break your new furniture.”

 

Obligingly, Tony leaned up and worked on the buckles until Steve was free, then he was immediately flipped onto his back, knees pulled up to the crook of Steve’s elbows.  “I’m good,” Tony said tightly, when Steve shot him a measured glance, then he bit out a cry of ecstasy as big hands lifted his hips easily, Steve thrusting deep even as he dragged Tony up onto his cock.  “Ah!” Steve smiled crookedly, and the next thrust rubbed up hard against the spot in Tony that made him see stars.

 

“Harder?” Steve gasped next to his ear, plaintive, “Let me do it harder.”

 

“Yeah,” Tony curled his hands tight over Steve’s shoulders.  “Give it to me.”

 

The next thrust was punishingly deep, then Steve settled for a hard, rough rhythm that would leave bruises on his hips and bite marks on his neck by the afternoon, moaning as Tony reached between them to pump himself in sharp jerks.  It was good, too good, too _much_ , and Tony was choking on a cry as he spilled, slippery and hot and clenching tight until Steve growled and ground deeper, rolling his hips to ride out the tremors.

 

“Sorry,” Steve apologized in a hoarse gasp, as he turned Tony gently around, pressing up against his cleft and kissing his shoulders, his spine, until Tony chuckled and got his breath back.  “Please, please.” At Tony’s nod, Steve breathlessly moaned as he pushed back in, with a greedy shove, waiting a moment to check if Tony was all right, then the big hands were back on his hips and he’d have two sets of bruises tomorrow.  Steve was close, his breath hitching tight as he murmured the most ridiculous things into Tony’s ear, broken and tender until he was pushing in as far as he could do with an inarticulate sound, trembling and clenching his fingers.

 

All in all, Tony felt, as he rolled his hips back and felt Steve shudder against him, a _great_ morning.

 

Postscript

 

Afterwards, Steve made pancakes with studied ceremony, as Tony perched gingerly on the bar stool against the kitchen counter and checked his mail, scanning through all 19358 new emails since last night.  Merging back into Stark Industries and being named CEO was perhaps not the best thing for his personal life, but fresh from a public backlash over the Armor security vulnerabilities, the company had been a lot more receptive to a change in pace and product.  Stane had been retained as a director but had voluntarily stepped down as CEO, and as much as Tony still didn’t trust him, Stane was useful, for now.

 

Steve set the pancakes down in front of him and squeezed onto the bar stool beside him, and Tony closed his laptop.  Lips brushed briefly against his forehead, then Steve was taking off the chain on his neck, slipping the ring back onto his finger.  “Missed you.”

 

Tony hummed appreciatively as he watched muscles go taut under Steve’s white shirt, the man reaching for fork and a plate.  “I’ll show you the house afterwards.”

 

“Okay,” Steve said, placid when there were pancakes involved.

 

“I have a couple of nice new cars to pick from,” Tony said idly, “And I know a great place.”

 

“I thought you, well,” Steve’s ears reddened, “Not more than once every ten hours?”

 

“I don’t need to get it up to suck you off in a car.”

 

Steve dropped his fork, and Tony grinned wickedly, leaning over for a quick kiss, sun-warmed from the burnished yellow light from the window and sweet with future promises.


End file.
